


Blue Skies

by Writegirl



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Afterlife, BAMF Phil Coulson, Badass SHIELD Agents, Crazy People are Crazy, Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, Speculation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-06
Updated: 2017-03-28
Packaged: 2018-03-29 09:03:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 32,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3890446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Writegirl/pseuds/Writegirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Instead of sending Gonzalez, SHIELD sends Coulson in to speak to Jaiying and her people.</p><p> </p><p>  <i>Skye straightened, affecting a close approximation of attention. “I’m SHIELD agent, Director Gonzalez,” her voice was clipped.</i><br/><i> He tapped his cane. “But that’s not all you are, is it?”</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I really believe that Phil should have been the one to speak to Jaiying, considering the fact that first contact seemed to be his specialty, and this is what my brain vomited out after watching last night's episode. Potential spoilers for all episodes of Agents of SHIELD, since I don't know exactly where this fic is going to go.

        "Everyone trusted Stark too much to pay attention to what he was doing." 

       Phil sighed. He was not up to having this argument again, not with everything else on the table. "Ultron was created because Stark's a genius with more heart than sense," he countered. "He was trying to protect us, protect all of us, from what he saw when he went through that wormhole. From something even SHIELD wouldn't be able to handle. It wasn't entirely his fault everything spun out of control the way it did." He'd made sure to include Thor's warnings about Stark being manipulated by the mind gem into creating what it wanted in the briefing he prepared. Judging from the expressions of everyone around him they weren't buying the explanation. 

        Gonzalez didn't give an inch."You actually think messing with that staff was a smart move?" It was the closest to amused he'd ever heard the man. 

        "His heart was in the right place." 

        Gonzalez grimaced. "You know what they say about the road to hell-" 

        "Yeah, good intentions, I got that," Phil interrupted. "You say I'm too close to this," he continued. "We need someone who's close to this, someone who they'll see as at least trying to help their people. Skye's told us a little about them, but what has she told them about us? When she arrived it was after two SHIELD agents, working on your orders, tried to kill her." 

        "Their orders were to neutralize her before should could do any damage." 

        "And two of them thought that meant putting a bullet in her head." Phil folded his arms. "Think about it. You're the leader of a people who have remained off the radar for who knows how long. According to Skye they've been hiding for millennia, and the one time they're discovered their leader is experimented on." He glanced at each of them. "We found Whitehall's notes. We know what he did to her. Now a multinational security organization shows up and wants to talk. Who would you trust: the man who appeared to order your daughter's execution or the man who has been, like you said, a father-figure to her in spite of everything?" 

        The office was silent. He could see each of them mulling over what he said. Everyone except May, who was staring straight through him. "May, you're awfully quiet." 

        She set her shoulders and focused on him. He knew the look, it said she didn't trust him, not anymore. "Gonzalez is right, you're too close to this." He felt his stomach clench, then something in her softened. "But I think you should go." She unfolded her arms and took a step forward. "Jaiying is her people's leader, but she's also a mother. Making her sit across the table from someone she thinks tried to harm her child could be a disaster. Besides, Agent Coulson's specialty is first contact. It's what he was trained for." 

        Phil looked back to Gonzalez and Weaver. They were doing that not-talking-but-definitely-holding-a-conversation thing that he'd noticed, and it made a sour feeling settle in his stomach. He used to be able to do that with May, and he and Nick once made senior agents antsy with that little trick. 

        Finally, Gonzalez spoke. "As much as I don't want to, I agree with Agent May on that last point. We need to keep these people calm. We have no idea what they're capable of." Gonzalez stood. "I'll handle mission control from here and Weaver will be on QJ-36." 

        Phil let out a breath. 

        The next hours passed in a blur. Discussions on what kind of presence they wanted to have, weapons choices (ICERs only), how many men should be on each jet. Simmons insisted on accompanying them to oversee the Indexing of the compound's people. 

        "I'm suggesting it," he said as she filled a field pack with supplies. There were two crates ready to be taken down to the jets by the door. "But there may not be much to do, at least not this time." He'd reinforced that this was one meeting of many, and the chances of Jaiying agreeing to her people being Indexed was nearly non-existent. 

        "Never hurts to be prepared," she countered, eternally optimistic. "Besides, it gives me a chance to show them what Indexing entails, put their minds at ease." 

        Fitz made a noise in the corner and Coulson turned. "Anything you'd like to add, Fitz?" 

        The younger agent shook his head and turned to a collection of electronic parts spread on the work bench. "Sorry." 

        "Fitz is just a little concerned about the people of Afterlife, if we aren't rushing them," Simmons explained. 

        Coulson turned to him. "We can't wait on this, Fitz." Rather, Gonzalez wouldn't let them wait. 

        Two hours later they heading for the Quinn jets, preparing for take-off. Phil was going through his checklist a final time, making sure everything was ready, when Gonzalez stepped up to him. 

        "I still say you're too close to this," Gonzalez told him, eyes on the activity around them. 

        "I know." Phil looked up from his pad. "But I asked you to be my adviser. If something goes wrong out there I'd like to know that you're here, keeping the rest of the world safe." He smiled, but it was humorless. "Don't suppose you'd say the same." 

        Gonzalez's eyes narrowed, and Coulson hid the small spike of pain it sent through him. After everything the other man still didn't trust him, not entirely. 

        "I had Weaver dig this up from the archives," he said instead, taking a small lacquered box from his pocket. "It was in Whitehall's office. You can guess who it belonged to." 

        Phil opened the box. The necklace inside was simple: three bronze coins tied with thin red cord sitting on a bed of white material. 

        "It's a traditional Chinese charm passed from mother to daughter," the other man explained. "It's supposed to ward off evil spirits, keep the wearer safe." Gonzalez resettled his weight on his cane. "I still don't agree with you meeting these people, Director Coulson. You're too close, and it will mess with your objectivity." 

        Phil slid the box into his pocket. "I hope you're wrong." 

    

        "They certainly picked a beautiful spot," Simmons mused as they watched the snow-capped mountains pass by. 

        "Isolated spot," Coulson clarified. Weaver's program gave the location of Afterlife as deep in the Kunlun mountain range, just below the snow-line of the highest peaks. "Large parts of this range are completely impassible. Most roads don't go beyond the foothills. Perfect for staying hidden." He doubted they did much trading with the outside world. Satellite imaging showed terraced fields, outbuildings that could have been barns. From the look of it the compound was completely self-sufficient. With the nearest human settlement nearly a hundred miles away he doubted anyone local knew the place existed. 

        "Makes having a teleporter very handy." Simmons frowned. "Do you think they've always been here? From the images I wouldn't judge him to be older than forty-five, maybe fifty." 

        Coulson added that to the long list of questions already clamoring in his mind. 

        "Touch down in ten," May said over the coms. 

        Most of the journey to Afterlife was made in silence. The security detail checked and re-checked their weapons while Weaver kept Gonzalez updated on their approach. He spent the time talking to Simmons or going over what he planned to say to Jaiying. Opening a dialogue was the most important thing, they could hash out the details of their relationship later. Right now he needed them to know that SHIELD wasn't a threat to them or their way of life. 

        "Are you sure you'd rather I wait with the jets?" Weaver asked, pulling him from his thoughts. 

        He nodded. "There's no guarantee that this won't go sideways. I'd like as few causalities as possible if that happens." 

        "Are you expecting them to be hostile?" 

        He shrugged. "I don't know, but I'd rather not take more chances than necessary." He glanced at Simmons, who was still admiring the view. "Five of us is enough to send a message without making anyone jumpier than they already are. We've seen movement ever since Skye got back, heat signatures congregating, some vanishing entirely." 

        Weaver leaned against the bulkhead. "They're most likely evacuating." 

        Phil cocked his head in agreement. "But not everyone, and that's a good sign." 

        May's voice carried through the jet. "Lock in, touch down in five." 

        As they buckled in for the landing Weaver turned to him again. "Do you really think you'll be able to reason with them?" 

        "I wouldn't be here if I didn't," he answered confidently. "Nothing we've seen from these people so far has indicated they're violent." He held up a hand when she took a breath to interrupt. "These aren't the people Hydra experimented on, the ones they unleashed on the Academy. They're ordinary people no matter what they can do, and most ordinary people just want to live their lives in peace. If they had other plans we would have heard about them long before now." 

        The landing went smooth, but he expected that with May on the stick. As soon as they touched down everyone was moving, grabbing gear. "Remember, these people are not hostiles," he said over an open line to all the jets. "We are not hear to start a conflict. No matter what happens we do not shoot first." He ignored the grumbling in his own jet, was sure that it was louder in the two that accompanied them. "This is a first contact mission, people, so act like it." 

        "We good to go?" he asked when May came to stand next to him. 

        "Henley's keeping the bird on standby just in case." She gave him a once over. "I'd feel better if you'd take protection in there with you." 

        "Well, if she kills me it's one less thing for you to worry about, right?" His smile did nothing to soften the words. 

        "Phil-" 

        He couldn't do this with her, not right now. "Game time." He pressed the release on the bay door. 

        The doors opened onto a small clearing, the man Skye identified as Gordon standing at the start of a narrow path, trench coat flaring in the wind. The air was thinner than he was used to, but so long as no one had to run for their life, he thought they'd be okay. 

        May went down the ramp first, every muscle screaming tension, and he followed, taking extra caution that his movements stayed loose, his posture open and non-threatening. Gordon watched them approach, it was the only way he could describe it. How he managed to see without eyes was something Coulson wanted to know. He was halfway to the other man when he spoke. "Hello, I'm Director Phil Coulson of SHIELD." He kept his voice light, friendly. First impressions were critical to building relationships, and he needed this to start on good terms. 

        The teleporter's attention went to him. "I'm Gordon," the man said. Everything about his posture said he didn't want them there. His attention went to the other two Quinn jets. "How many do you plan on taking into the compound?" 

        It was unnerving, having someone without eyes staring right at you. "Myself, Agents May, Jones, Kayling, and Simmons." 

        "Hello!" The scientist added cheerfully. 

        Gordon's attention flicked to her, and something close to a smile tilted his lips before it faded. "It would be best if the rest of your agents remained within the clearing. The mountain can be dangerous if you're not careful." A clear warning, but not overtly hostile. "Jaiying would like to meet in her office." He turned and started down the path. "Follow me, and stay close." 

        They fell into step behind the man as they walked up a narrow path, Kayling in front with Simmons, Jones taking up the rear, and May beside him. 

        "It's beautiful up here," Simmons' voice was almost too cheerful in the quiet, but sincere. "Fresh air, lovely vistas. It's a paradise." She shivered at a strong gust of wind. "Bit chilly, though." 

        At first he thought Gordon would ignore her, then, "If you have to stay away from everyone, you should at least get a good view out of it." There was bitterness there, certainly, but pride, too. As they continued she began talking about the local flora, asking the man about animals he may have seen, what other places he'd visited, the places she'd traveled. The answers were stilted at first, but as they walked the constant chatter from the scientist seemed to put Gordon at ease. Maybe bringing Simmons to the first meeting was a good idea after all. 

        One moment they were walking through thick trees, the next a large, open gate broke through the foliage, leading to what he knew was the main walkway of the compound. Lincoln was waiting for them."Welcome to Afterlife." 

        Gordon paused for only a moment before continuing. "Sorry about the lack of fanfare, the band came down with hives." 

        "We weren't expecting open arms," Phil answered neutrally. May humphed next to him. 

        Gordon's smile was sharp. "Good." 

        Lincoln fell into step with them as they continued further in. He looked better than he did when he left: the bruising at his forehead was gone and he no longer favored his left side."How are you?" Coulson asked. 

        The younger man swallowed. "I'm fine," he said after a moment. "The healers say you did a good job repairing what Hydra did." 

        He'd expected them to examine the younger man when he returned. "Were they surprised we didn't put a tracker next to your spine?" 

        Lincoln huffed a laugh. "A little." 

        From their vantage point he could see that what they first thought were single, long buildings were actually separate structures that shared a single roof. There were tables outside some that suggested cafes, or empty stalls. While the overwhelming majority of the structures they passed shared the same Eastern aesthetic, some had flares from other countries. Mis-matched windows, non-native plants carefully tucked in planters. There was even a Turkish flag painted beside the door of one large structure that Gordon called 'the outlet'. 

        They wound their way through the compound, only occasionally seeing those who lived there. A little girl, barely ten, ran out in front of them only to be swiftly pulled away by an adult and herded into a building. _They're scared,_ Phil thought with a frown. He expected a show of force, maybe people practicing their powers in the open as a warning of what they could do, not this shuttered thoroughfare. It meant the people of Afterlife were terrified beyond false bravado, and it meant his job today was that much harder. 

        They came to a wide courtyard and Gordon stopped. "Everyone except Coulson can wait here." He nodded towards a collection of stone benches and a table set with trays and glasses. "Daniel and Oona prepared refreshments." 

        May took a step towards them, and Coulson shook his head. "I'll be fine." He glanced at the table. "Looks like fresh bao." 

    

        The building Gordon led him to was set slightly apart from the others, nearly hidden in overgrowth. When the teleporter opened the doors he smiled at who he saw inside. "Skye." 

        She smiled in return. "Hey AC." 

        Skye looked better than she had the last time he saw her, rested. There was still strain around her eyes that spoke of stress, not that he could blame her. His eyes went to the two other people in the room. A woman was seated behind a carved desk while Cal was standing next to his daughter, arms akimbo. "Coulson." The man's voice was flat. 

        "So..." Skye half-turned. "You've met my dad." She gestured with both hands and bounced on the balls of her feet. "And this is Jaiying. My mother." 

        Phil could see the resemblance there, in the set of her eyes, the curve of her cheekbones. He ignored the scars that traced paths over her skin. He'd read some of Whitehall's notes on what he called Subject 0. "Jaiying," he said, choosing to ignore Cal for the moment. "I'm Phil Coulson, Director of SHIELD." 

        She cut her eyes to her daughter. "Skye's told me much about you, Director Coulson." 

        "Just Phil," he corrected. "Unless you have an honorific you'd like me to use?" 

        She smiled at him. "Jaiying is fine." 

        He turned to the elephant in the room. "If you don't mind my asking, why is Cal here? We didn't part on the best of terms last time we met." 

        Jaiying took a deep breath. "I understand that he has killed some of your agents." 

        "No, no... not SHIELD agents," Cal said quickly, then frowned. "I don't think." He looked genuinely confused. "No... just people who had it coming." 

        "Like those kids in Manitowoc?" The question slipped out before he could stop it. When Cal's expression remained confused he elaborated. "Three of those students died because of what you did. Two heart attacks and an aneurysm." 

        "We pride ourselves on doing the right thing," Jaiying broke in before Cal could say anything else. "And as much as this pains me..." her eyes swept to her husband, and he could read real regret there. "I do understand the larger goal." 

        Coulson glanced from Jaiying to Cal to Skye. Skye looked sad. He imagined this was the first she heard of their plan to turn her father over even though he knew she'd see the reason behind it. Jaiying's expression was earnest and Cal... he was smiling. Not grinning, but he definitely found humor in the situation. 

        "I'll have May escort him to our transport," he said finally. 

        "Skye can," Jaiying suggested. She turned to her daughter. "Would you take your father to the agents outside? I'm sure Phil and I have much to discuss." 

        Skye looked to him, and it made pride swell in his chest that she didn't move until he gave a small nod. "Think you can come back once he's secured?" he asked as she led her father away. 

        Skye pursed her lips. "Sure thing, AC." 

        When they were gone Jaiying gestured to the chair across from her. "Please, have a seat." She waited until he was settled to ask, "Why does she call you AC?" 

        "Agent Coulson," he explained. "I wasn't director when we first met. She refused to call me Agent Coulson, and I tried to discourage her from calling me Phil, so we compromised." 

        Her smile was indulgent. "She speaks very highly of you." 

        "I'm glad to hear it." 

        Skye's mother folded her hands on the desk. She frowned at a spot on the desk before looking at him. "Why are you here, Phil?" 

        The bluntness of the question caught him off guard. "I'm sorry?" 

        "From what Skye has told me you're a very important man in SHIELD. You could have sent anyone to speak with us," she shrugged. "You could have sent ships to destroy us, but you didn't. You're here, in enemy territory so to speak, so I'll ask again. Why are you here?" 

        Phil inhaled. "I'm here to make sure that everyone is all right, and stays that way," he started. "I understand that you have a past with Hydra, but we aren't them. SHIELD was created specifically to fight groups like Hydra. To protect the world from threats." 

        She latched onto that. "And you think my people are a threat?" 

        "There are certain sections of SHIELD who became concerned when two of your people teleported onto our ship," Phil countered. "A ship that couldn't be found by most conventional methods. They need assurances that your people aren't hostile." 

        Jaiying sat back. "Would it make you feel better to know Gordon was unaware that he was teleporting onto a SHIELD ship?" 

        "A little." 

        She sighed. "Gordon's powers are...unique. There are times when he teleports solely by feel. When he teleported onto your ship, he wasn't trying to infiltrate you. He was looking for something very specific... that just happened to be in your possession." 

        "The object." He leaned forward. "Do you know what it is?" 

        Jaiying tilted her head. "No. He merely felt it, and believed it worth exploring." Her smile was self-deprecating. "Believe me, had we known it was in your custody I would never have authorized the trip." 

        "In a way, I'm glad you did." At her surprised expression he continued. "It gave us a chance to do this: to sit and talk with one another, to open up communication so we can avoid further conflicts and set minds at ease." 

        "Hmm. And tell me, Phil, how can we set the minds responsible for SHIELD at ease?" 

        "This is a start," he said hopefully. "You having me here, discussing our future." 

        "And that's all?" Her gaze was pointed. "All of this, just to talk?" 

        "For now." He steeled himself. " In the future I'd like you to think about letting us place your people on our Index." 

        Jaiying's expression shuttered. "Index." 

        "We have some experience with enhanced people," he explained, keeping his tone neutral. "The Index is our way of keeping track of them, for their protection and ours. We would interview your people, learn about their powers, and keep a record of them." He leaned forward. "I understand that you were in Bahrain, that you told Skye what happened. If we'd known what we were up against then, things wouldn't have turned out the way they did. We had no idea what Olga's powers were, or her daughter's. Having them on the Index would have helped." 

        "So you'd... what?" She stood and walked to the mantle. "Tag us?" 

        Phil shook his head. "The Index is a record, that's it. Most people on it don't have more than a cursory contact with SHIELD." 

        "And those who aren't 'most people'?" 

        Phil sighed. "Some people are a danger to themselves, and to others. Having powers doesn't change that, but it can make that danger a thousand times worse. If necessary, some individuals are placed in SHIELD custody, for their protection and the protection of the general populace." 

        She was facing away from him as he spoke so he couldn't see her expression, but Jaiying's shoulders settled like she'd come to a decision. 

        "You know, when Skye said that SHIELD was coming here, I didn't know what to expect." She said, still facing away from him. "She seemed so earnest in her belief that you're good people." 

        "She said the same about the people here." 

        Jaiying half-turned. "I thought about evacuating the compound, running away... hiding, but then I knew that wouldn't work. You found us once, and now that you know about us, you'll find us again." She turned back to the mantle and reached into a carved box. "I have something for you... a gift, if you like. A piece of our history, to cement our future." 

        "That's funny, I was given a gift to give to you." Phil reached into his pocket and pulled out the box Gonzalez gave him and set it on the table. 

        "You know, I've lived enough life to see countless people profiled for their differences," she said as she turned. "It's amazing, how many generations fall into the same trap. What is it that makes people feel they have the right to do that?" Her eyes were cold. 

        "Fear," he said slowly. "Fear makes people do terrible things, but this isn't about fear, Jaiying. It's about keeping everyone safe, including your people." 

        "But it is about fear, Phil. Fear drives people, like you said. It makes us do things we wouldn't normally do." She unwrapped the small bundle in her hand. "It's what started me experimenting with terrigen crystals." He leaned back slightly when she revealed what she was holding. The crystal was dark blue, streaked with black. "We only had five diviners in our possession once, and I knew if they were destroyed that we'd loose our ability to transform. Can you imagine that, an entire race gone forever?" 

        "It sounds like you found a way around that." He wished he'd let May talk him into bringing an ICER. 

        Jaiying smiled at him, and it was all teeth. "We did. It wasn't easy, but as some have said, discovery requires experimentation." 

        Phil felt ice trickle down his spine."Whitehall said that." 

        "Yes." She nodded. "He did, and he was right. We melted one of the diviners down and grew new crystals from it." She sighed. "Unfortunately, we were never able to separate the diviner metal out entirely. It's not harmful to us, but to humans..." 

        Phil stood and stepped away from the desk. "Jaiying-" 

        She dropped the crystal and it shattered on the desk, sending a plume of gray smoke throughout the room. 

        Phil backed away, but he could feel it on his skin, like a layer of oil. He rubbed at his hands, eyes wide as black splotches began to form. "What have you done?" 

        She came around the desk, eyes dark. "Let's hope you're one of us." 

        Phil tried to move, but it felt like his feet were anchored to the ground. He heard the doors open behind him. "Mom!?" 

        Jaiying rushed to her daughter. "Skye, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry I was showing him one of the crystals-" 

        "Skye!" he shouted. 

        The last thing he saw was the look of horror on Skye's face.


	2. Chapter 2

        _Sir? Sir?! Can you hear me?_

        _BP spiking... not prepared..._

        _Take care of him...one of us..._

        _Phil, please be okay please be okay please please please-_

        Phil leaned up with a moan. Everything hurt. His muscles were knots, his joints strained near to rupturing. It felt like he'd been forced to ditch his parachute too far from the ground. When he tried to sit up further hands were on his shoulders, pressing him back into the mattress, and that wasn't right. No one was allowed in his quarters. 

        "It's okay, AC. Just breathe. _"Okay... he's okay... need to tell May..._

        "Skye?" His mouth was dry, painfully so. 

        "Right here." Small hands found his, slender and strong. 

        He turned his head, but there was nothing, just darkness."Why can't I see?" 

        _Amusement like a tickling through his core and blessed, sweet relief..._ "Your eyes are still closed." 

        Oh, that made sense. Phil focused on opening his eyes, then winced when the muscles responded. There was light everywhere, so bright he couldn't make anything out. "Too bright." 

        "Hold on." He heard movement, shuffling, then she was back. "Better?" 

        He cracked one eye. The brightness was dimmed. He blinked several times, fought to focus his eyes on the tan smudge hovering over him. After long moments details started spilling in, finally resolving into Skye's face. "Hey." 

        "Hey." She cleared her throat. "Thirsty?" _Worry...fear slithering under his skin..._ "When I woke up I felt like I could drink the Mississippi." Skye pushed a tall glass of water into his hands. He stared at the glass for a moment before taking it. 

        _Sadness, heavy and aching..._ "It's not poisoned, AC." 

        "Not by you," he muttered, and then wished he hadn't when Skye looked away. 

        Phil took in his surroundings as he drank. The walls were tan, the floor the same wood of Jaiying's office. Even though he could see lamps the only light came from several candles, some of which had been blown out judging by the smoke still curling away from their wicks. There was a sound in the background, a constant murmuring of water that came from a small stereo. "Is that incense?" 

        "You're in one of the recovery rooms," Skye said after a moment. "They're kinda into the holistic thing." _Apprehension like a knife in the gut..._ "You've been unconscious for a day and a half." 

        He handed her back the glass and sat up, slowly this time. His muscles protested, but he felt better. He also wasn't in his suit. The pants and shirt were both white, a soft material he thought was cotton. "What happened?" 

        "There was an accident." Skye's eyes were large and shining in the half-light. "Jaiying was showing you one of the crystals." She stood, arms wrapped around her middle, and paced away from him. "She wanted you to take it back to SHIELD so they could study it, a peace offering, she said." She took a deep breath. "It dropped." 

        Phil thought back. He remembered meeting with Jaiying, remembered her showing him a crystal, deep blue and black, then nothing. "I don't remember." 

        "Lincoln said some short term memory loss is common, part of the transformation." 

        "Transformation?" 

        _Stay calm, Skye, you can do this..._ He blinked at the words, confused when Skye's lips didn't move with them. "The crystals are laced with diviner metal. When it shattered it sent the mist through the room..." she trailed off. _I'm sorry, AC... didn't want this..._ "If you were human, it would have killed you, but it didn't." 

        Phil looked down at himself. His feet looked the same, his arms. "What are you saying?" 

        "I'm saying... you're one of us, AC." 

        Phil just stared. One of them? 

        Skye shook her head. _Sorry, so sorry..._ "I told May I'd let her know when you woke up," She said, heading for the door. "I'll be right back." 

        Skye practically ran out the door before he could say anything else, leaving it to close behind her. Phil tried to think, tried to put the pieces together. He'd met with Jaiying, remembered speaking to her about her people, about the Index. After that the memories became hazy, indistinct. He remembered crystals... _color...fear, fear like a hot knife in his chest...panic...not working, why isn't it working!..._ then nothing, not until a few moments ago. 

        "You're awake." 

        Phil looked up. May slipped into the room and shut the door behind her. "Looks that way," he tried to force cheer into his voice, but it fell flat. _Wariness like a cough pattering in his lungs...concern..._ "Report. Skye says I was out for over twenty four hours." 

        "Closer to thirty six," Melinda clarified. She took a few steps into the room, turned so she could watch the door and him simultaneously. "We had two injuries, other than yours. When I reported what happened Weaver took the jets and opened fire on the compound." 

        "Oh God." This was his fault, all his fault. He should have let Gonzalez send someone else, anyone else but him. 

        "One of the buildings was leveled," May continued. " Thankfully no one was inside. One of Jaiying's people brought QJ-36 down before it could do more damage. Some of the people here were hurt by debris." 

        Phil took a deep breath. Focus... he needed to focus. "What happened to Weaver?" 

        May clasped her hands. "Back at SHIELD HQ. Once the jet was downed the others ceased fire. You missed the standoff. Jaiying pretty much threw her out of the compound, along with any of our people who wanted to go. Simmons and Kayling stayed behind." 

        "Any word from Gonzalez?" 

        She lifted her chin. "I've been in constant contact since everything went to hell. With us here he doesn't want to risk antagonizing them further, but he's been adamant about speaking with you. I've been handling the agents on the ground and Simmons volunteered to help their medical staff with the injured." 

        Phil ran a hand through his hair. How the hell had things gone so wrong so fast? "As first contacts go this wasn't my best work." 

        "What happened in there, Coulson?" _Anger, white hot and directionless..._ "I know what Jaiying told us, but what do you remember?" 

        "Nothing much." He swung his legs over the side of the bed and set his elbows on his knees. "We were talking about putting the people here on the Index. Jaiying showed me one of the crystals from a diviner..." he trailed off with a shake of his head, eyes focused on his toes. "After that it's all a blank. Skye said the crystal broke." 

        "When I came in, you looked like one of Bakshi's victims," _control... anger receding like waves, leaving him cold..._ "Skye was trying to calm her mother down and you were..." May took a breath, refocused the way he'd seen her do so many times over the years. When she spoke again her words were measured and even. "Then whatever had encased you shattered, and you collapsed. I don't know who was more surprised, us or Jaiying." 

        Coulson lifted his head. "So... what's the good news?" 

    

        "How is he?" 

        Skye shrugged. "Fine, I think. He hasn't started screaming incoherently yet, so that's a good sign." They watched Coulson and May talk. Phil was still sitting down, dressed in the simple shirt and trousers the medical staff changed him into. May paced around the room, hands opening and closing rhythmically as she gave a report of what happened over the last day and a half. He took it all in, asked questions when Melinda fell silent. "He's just... AC." 

        Her mother placed a hand on her shoulder. "Everyone responds differently to the change. I'm sure he'll be better in a few days." 

        "I don't know if we have a few days," she countered. "Weaver opened fire on us. If it wasn't for May and Crystal-" 

        "They only damaged a few buildings, Skye. No one was seriously hurt." Jaiying hung her head. "It's my fault. I should have been more careful." 

        Skye shook her head. "No, you can't think that. We're just lucky it was Coulson and not someone else. If someone had died in there with you..." she shuddered. She didn't know Gonzalez, or any of the other people May said had formed a ruling body of sorts over SHIELD, but she doubted they would have cared what caused one of their agents to die. 

        "Then it's a good thing he's one of us," her mother soothed. "I almost can't believe it, that you two found each other in the outside world." 

        _But maybe we didn't._ She hadn't explained about the GH-325. It didn't matter now, anyway. Phil's DNA would be too altered to ever know for certain if he'd been born like them, or if Fury made him that way. 

        "Have you heard from this man Agent May keeps mentioning, Gonzalez?" 

        Skye rolled her eyes. "The one time he wanted to talk to me it was to tell me he held me personally responsible for everything that happened." It didn't matter that she hadn't been there when the crystal broke, that she hadn't wanted any of this. Gonzalez seemed to think this was all some elaborate plan. For what he wouldn't say, but he placed her firmly at the center of it. "This is all so messed up," she felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes and tried to blink them away. 

        "Hey..." thin arms went around her, and she found herself hugging her mother, face buried in her shoulder. "You're exhausted," Jaiying said over her snuffles. "You've barely left Coulson's side since he came through the mist." She pushed her away slightly so they could see each other, hands a steadying weight on her upper arms. "This...everything that happened... is not your fault, Skye. Sometime things just happen they way they do. There is no one to blame for it." She smiled gently. "Visit your friend Jemma, eat... get some sleep. We'll make sure Phil is comfortable." 

        Skye sniffed, ran a hand over her face and set her shoulders before heading to the guest quarters where Jemma had set up shop. Her friend seemed to think that the people of Afterlife would volunteer to be Indexed, and nothing Skye said could change her mind. 

        She stopped on the terrace outside the recovery ward, taking in the sky. The view was spectacular at night. With no city lights she could see every star, and the sky was so close it looked like it rested on the dark mounds of the mountains. The night before Lincoln pointed out the Orion Nebula, visible to the naked eye at their elevation. The arm of the Milky way swung overhead, a pale purple swath that bisected the sky. It reminded her of being on the Bus, flying above all the light pollution on the way to a mission. Night was one of the few times May would let her sit in the cockpit. She'd spend hours there with her laptop, staring at the stars, until she couldn't keep her eyes open and started drifting. 

        With a sigh Skye started winding her way down the stairs and through the compound. The smell of smoke was still in the air from Weaver's attack. She followed the lamps that lit the main path, wondered what she could grab from the communal kitchen that would be fast and light or if she should even bother. Knowing Jemma, the other woman had something waiting for her in their cabin. 

        "You're out awful late." 

        Skye didn't stop walking. "Don't you have a house to haunt?" 

        Raina fell into step next to her. "Run out of Sonic jokes already? I thought it would take you another week, at least." They walked in silence for a moment. "How's Phil?" 

        Skye stopped. "I'm tired, Raina. Just tell me what you want so I can tell you to go to hell." 

        There was a sound, the strange clacking of her spines that followed Raina now, and the smaller woman was standing in front of her. "I tried to warn you." 

        "Yeah, you did." 

        Raina looked down. "I didn't want this, Skye. I didn't want any of it. I can help us all, but you have to trust me." 

        Skye laughed. The sound bubbled out of her. The look of confusion on Raina's face made her laugh harder. "You think I'm actually going to trust you?" she managed to get out between giggles. She waited until they tapered off to continue. "You have lied and manipulated everyone you've ever met, Raina. And now... because you think you've found some higher purpose... we're just supposed to pretend like all of that didn't happen?" Skye brushed past her, felt the sting as one of her barbs tore through the material of her shirt and caught her skin. 

        "I told you. I told all of you that she shouldn't be the one to talk to SHIELD," Raina hissed as she followed her. "You think this was an accident? That she just happened to drop that crystal?" 

        Skye stopped. "You're saying she didn't?" 

        "In my vision Jaiying didn't jump, Skye. She didn't flinch. She stared right at him and let it drop." 

        "That doesn't make any sense... she could have killed him." 

        "Who's to say that wasn't what she wanted all along?" They were in the main path of Afterlife, the wreckage of the outlet stark and jagged in the moonlight. Most of the buildings surrounding it were smudged with smoke, and more than half were shuttered. May had flown the quinjet back to their landing site so it wouldn't be in the middle of Afterlife anymore, but the damage was done. Gordon had been busy since the attack relocating anyone who asked to places unknown, mostly those who had yet to go through the mist. Only those who truly had no place to go wanted to stay in Afterlife so long as SHIELD was there. 

        "Skye?" 

        She turned to the other woman. Raina was watching her, eyes night-glow green in the darkness. "It's late, and I have to think about how to help my mother keep this whole thing from blowing up in our faces," the words dripped venom. "Maybe you should do the same." 

        She ignored the "I'm trying" that was called at her back. 

    

        "Are you crying?" 

        "What?" Phil reached up, ran a hand over his cheek and frowned at the moisture there. He pulled his hand away and stared at the liquid on his fingertips. "Huh?" He couldn't remember the last time he cried that wasn't triggered by physical pain. 

        _Tension... a taught wire in his stomach..._ "Phil... how do you feel?" 

        He tried to focus on his emotions, and gasped as he was sucked under. Fear, anger, pain, excitement, they washed over him, struck him with waves that pulled the air from his lungs. The sensation was there and gone so fast that he lost his balance and flopped backwards on the bed like a puppet with cut strings. 

        "Phil!" _Oh God, what now, not good, where the hell are those healers..._ "Phil, can you hear me?" 

        "Yes." He blinked. May was leaning over him, hand hovering over his shoulder. He struggled to sit upright, dragged air into his lungs. It felt like he'd tried to run a five minute mile. 

        "What. Happened." 

        He looked at her. Melinda's features were carved, set, smooth so nothing showed but he could feel it writhing beneath the surface, anger and concern snarling at each other in her chest. "I don't know. I should know." At the moment he felt hollow, but anything was preferable to the miasma that he felt moments before. "I think I need to speak with Gonzalez." He hopped down from the bed, pleased when his knees only gave a cursory complaint. 

        "The quinjet is back in the clearing," May said, gaze assessing. "Think you can handle the hike?" 

        "Sure." He glanced around the room. "Where are my shoes?" 

        They both turned as the door to the room opened. Jaiying came half into the room and stopped. "Agent Coulson?" 

        He gave her a reassuring smile. 

        She took it as permission and came fully into the room, closing the door behind her. "I'm glad you see you up and about." 

        "Glad to be that way." He glanced at their surroundings. "You wouldn't know where my clothes are, would you?" 

        She walked to one of the long cabinets and pulled out his clothes, all neatly folded. "I'm sorry about having to strip you while you were unaware," she said as she handed the clothing to him. "The healers needed access for the treatment." 

        "Treatment?" He turned to May. 

        Her face was like marble. "They stripped you down and gave you acupuncture." 

        "I assure you, it's much more than that. The treatment is designed to make your transition smooth. Without it it can take months for the change to fully cycle." 

        "So this was reversible?" May asked. 

        Jaiying turned to May. "I'm afraid not, but there have been cases of individuals whose biology tried to reject the transformation. They were wracked with excruciating pain for hours, sometimes days, before the transformation was complete.." 

        Phil pulled his shirt over his head and reached for his button-down. _Surprise...heat coiling at his neck..._

        "I'll leave you to get dressed," Jaiying said behind him. Moments later he heard the door open. 

        "You made her blush." 

        He wasn't surprised that May hadn't left as well. They'd seen each other in states of undress for years. "Wasn't intentional." 

        "But it might work for us." 

        Coulson chuckled. "I'm a little old for a honey pot, don't you think?" 

        Melinda gave him a slow assessing look from his feet to his head, and it was his turn to fight a blush. "She does have you beat, age-wise. Maybe she's a cradle robber." 

        He didn't dignify the comment with a response. 

        Outside the recover room it was cold, and he wished he'd thought to bring the heavy coat he'd stored on the quinjet with him the first time around. They were at the bottom of the stairs leading to the recovery room when Gordon appeared in front of them. May stepped back, and the man gave her a cursory glance before turning to him. "Jaiying said you looked like you were planning on heading out," his tone was lighter than their first meeting, almost friendly. 

        "We're just heading for our transport," Phil explained. 

        Gordon glanced between the two of them. "You won't be able to make it at night." 

        _Frustration..._ "I think we'll be fine." 

        "I'll be happy to take you," Gordon offered. "No offense, but even those of us who know the mountain don't really leave the compound at night. If you need to go now, I'd rather you get there in one piece." 

        "We're-" 

        "We'll take you up on that," Phil rode over Melinda. He glanced back at her. "I'm not really wearing hiking boots, anyway." He ignored the anger he could feel radiating from her. He knew she didn't trust these people, but Gordon was right. They needed to get to the transport quickly, and he didn't relish the thought of falling ass over teakettle down a hillside to do it. 

        Gordon held out his hands. "Get close. I need contact to take you with me." 

        He had a moment to think that he was teleporting... like something out of Star Trek... then the world winked out of existence. 

    

        _Food. Food, then sleep. Sleep first?_ Skye tucked her stash - wrapped sandwich, bag of Funions, bottle of something with writing she didn't recognize, but Lil said was non-alcoholic - into the crook of her arm and rapped on the door to her room. 

        "I'm decent!" Simmons answered. 

        She opened the door. Jemma was sitting on the floor, equipment and readouts spread around her in a semi-circle. "Still up?" 

        "Still compiling data," Jemma answered, looking at something in her tablet. "I brought you some stew earlier, but I'm sure it's gone cold." 

        Skye glanced at the table, where there were two covered bowls and a bottle of water. "It's all right," she said. "I grabbed something from the kitchens." She set everything down on the table. "Coulson's awake." 

        "Oh, thank God." Jemma bounced up. "Did you speak with him? Is he all right? Has he changed?" 

        "Yes, as far as I can tell, and I don't know." She dropped into the chair. "He seemed like the same old Coulson." She ran her hands through her hair. "No obvious changes or anything." She still remembered how scared she was in those first few seconds before the chrysalis broke apart, terrified of what he might become. 

        "That's good," Jemma sounded far to cheerful. "Maybe there aren't any changes. He wasn't born with the genetic markers like the rest of you, so maybe the mist had no effect." 

        Skye smiled humorlessly. "There's no way of knowing if he did or didn't." 

        "If Jaiying would have just let me take a sample-" 

        "He's awake now," Skye cut in, then grimaced when Jemma's face fell. "I know you wanted to take them as soon as it happened, but that's not how they do things here," Skye said for what felt like the thousandth time. "He has the right to choose." She turned to the controlled chaos Jemma had spread across the floor. "What've you been working on?" 

        Some of the light came back into her friend. "I got three people to speak to me today," Jemma told her. "None of them have gone through the transformation, but they were willing to let me take blood and answer questions about their family history." 

        Skye eyed her sandwich, then turned to the covered bowls. Hot food did sound good. She wondered if she could call Lincoln. He was better than a microwave when it came to heating things. 

        Jemma caught herself on an explanation of bloodlines and inherited abilities. "Oh, you poor thing. When's the last time you ate?" 

        Skye laughed. "I don't remember." She had a vague sense of having her mother give her something to munch on, but had that been earlier that day, or yesterday? "Too bad this is stone cold." She reached for her ham and cheese. 

        "Actually," Jemma dug through her supply back and brought out a small black sphere. "Standard field gear. Well, not standard, but Fitz is optimistic." The scientist did something to the device, and it started glowing. "Three settings. Works wonders as a hand warmer, but this is its best trick." She dropped the sphere into the stew and started stirring. In less than a minute it was steaming, releasing the scent of chicken and garlic into the room. 

        "Oh, god, that smells good," Skye said as she sat down. 

        "Chicken yassa," Jemma said as she dug the sphere out of the stew. She dropped it onto a napkin. "At least that's what the woman who ran the kitchen called it, but it is amazing." She gestured to the other bowl, which looked to be full of rice. "Can't do anything about that, though." 

        Skye smiled. "Thanks, Jemma." 

    

        The world came back in a rush of sound and light. 

        Phil stumbled as his feet found the ground, but that wasn't right. It was more like his feet became aware of the ground, as if he'd jumped and landed without moving. Next to him May stepped away from Gordon, eyes on their surroundings. 

        "Thanks," Phil said, straightening his jacket. 

        "No problem." He folded his hands behind his back. "I'll wait here while you make your call." 

        May headed for the quinjet. There wasn't much moonlight, but there was no real external damage that he could see. She typed a code into the external keypad and the ramp lowered. 

        "How did they bring it down?" he asked once they were inside. 

        "One of them can control air," May answered as she sat at the communications console. "Thinned it out beneath the fans. Dropped the jet like a stone." 

        "Handy." 

        The look she gave him could have curdled milk, so he smiled back just to watch her roll her eyes. "SHIELD actual this is QJ-36, over." 

        Someone Phil couldn't identify appeared on screen. "QJ-36 this is SHIELD actual, reading you five by five, over." 

        "Is Gonzalez available?" 

        The woman smiled. "Always. Patching you through now." 

        The screen went dark, then Gonzalez appeared. He was back on the carrier with Weaver and Oliver behind him. "Agent May." 

        "Director Coulson is here and ready for debrief," May said, before standing. 

        Coulson sat down, surprised that Gonzalez actually looked happy to see him. Well, maybe not happy, but at least a little relieved. He thought. The man was difficult to read. "Sir." 

        "Good to have you back with us, Director." 

        "Good to be here." His eyes shifted to Agent Weaver. "Despite the misunderstanding." 

        Gonzalez cocked an eyebrow. "Agent Weaver believed our people were under attack. She acted accordingly." 

        "We'll have to agree to disagree on that." 

        Gonzalez half-turned, and Weaver stepped out of his line of sight. "What happened in there, Director Coulson?" 

        He spent the next twenty minutes recounting his meeting with Jaiying, what he could remember of it. After that he answered questions about how they were treating him, now that he was 'exposed'. 

        "Their leader refused to let Simmons take a blood sample," Gonzalez wasn't pleased about that. "Refused to let any of our personnel near you except Skye." 

        "I understand they needed to treat me immediately after exposure. What did Skye have to say?" 

        Gonzalez's expression shuttered. "Basically everything you reported. I understand she spent most of her time with you." 

        "I don't remember." He answered honestly. 

        The other man twisted his cane. "Now that you've been exposed, we need to get a handle on this. You'll have to be Indexed." 

        It was a test. If he refused Gonzalez would be within his rights to relieve him of duty. "Simmons brought along equipment to start the process. We'll start in the morning." 

        His answer must have surprised the other man, because he faltered for a moment. "Do they know what abilities you have yet?" 

        "To be honest, I don't know if I have any abilities at all." He didn't feel...well... he didn't feel, but he wasn't about to tell Gonzalez that. 

        "...as soon as possible." 

        Phil frowned. "I'm sorry?" 

        "You're conscious now. We need to get you out of there as soon as possible." 

        "I don't think that will send the right message-" 

        "I don't care what message it sends," Gonzalez rode over him. "Three of our people were injured, one in ways we still don't understand. I want you and what's left of your team out of there and back here, including Agent Skye. May reported that QJ-36 was flight ready. I expect you in the air within the next four hours." His eyes were like two brown stones. "Unless you have a reason for staying." 

        Phil thought hard. Cutting and running would make Jaiying and her people afraid. They'd already suffered one attack from SHIELD and might see this as the precursor to another, larger one. "I think Jaiying and her people could use assurances that this isn't a prelude to something worse," he explained slowly. 

        "What kind of assurances?" Oliver asked. 

        Phil looked to May. "Speak to their leader. Let her know that our leaving is standard procedure, that this isn't an end to negotiations. That we plan on coming back." 

        "Coming back to Afterlife might be a moot point," Weaver said. "The compound has been steadily emptying out since the incident. Heat signatures are down to about a third of what they were before." 

        "The teleporter has been busy," Gonzalez broke in. "We've been tracking his movements, but they're smart. Most of his jumps have been to major rail or bus routes. If we lose these people there's no telling how long it will take to find them again." 

        "All the more reason to keep this as friendly and open as possible from our end." 

        The three agents were quiet. 

        "I agree with Coulson," Oliver said, and Phil fought the urge to raise his eyebrows. It was the first time the man had agreed with anything he said since meeting him. 

        Agent Weaver spoke next. "I agree as well. This Jaiying may be the only thing holding these people together. It could take years to find them if they scatter entirely." 

        "Do you think she'll be willing to speak to us now?" Gonzalez asked. 

        Phil shrugged. "She was awake twenty minutes ago." 

        "We'll be waiting." The communication went black. 

        Coulson huffed a breath. "That didn't go so bad," he quipped. 

        "At least he still called you Director," May said as she lowered the ramp. 

        "He did, didn't he?" He hadn't expected that. Thought that Gonzalez had relieved him of duty the moment he heard what happened. "Think we can talk Gordon into taking us to Jaiying?" 

        "I don't think that'll be a problem," May's tone was flat. 

        Coulson glanced around her. 

        Gordon wasn't alone anymore.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took me a minute to upload this. I'm still reeling from the season finale (and trying to keep my brain from integrating things from it into the fic). Anyway, next chapter.
> 
> For those of you who have put forward guesses as to what his powers are... you are right, damn you smart people.

               "They still sleeping?"  


        Jemma looked over her shoulder at May's question. "Like babes."  


        Skye and Coulson were strapped into their seats; her head hanging forward, his leaned back against the bulkhead. When Kayling noticed her staring he nodded his head at them, then rolled his eyes dramatically before turning back to his tablet and Diamond Digger. She liked Agent Kayling. When everything happened he didn't respond the way Jones did, waving his gun and threatening to shoot anyone who got too close. Instead he ushered away from the rest of the buildings and tried to verify what was happening. He hadn't even pointed his weapon at anyone.  


        "I'm not surprised, the way he ate." Amusement was laced in May's tone.  


        Simmons fought the urge to giggle. "I never thought I'd see someone consume three thousand calories in a single sitting. It was fascinating."  


        She didn't see it, but she was sure Melinda rolled her eyes.  


        Skye shifted in her sleep, knocking into her backpack and sending a few wrappers tumbling over her foot.  


        Simmons turned back to the agent. "Do you really think we should take them to the carrier? I think the Director would be more comfortable at the Playground."  


        "Which is why we're going to the carrier."  


        Her face fell. "You don't trust them."  


        May stared straight ahead. "QJ-36 is damaged and needs repairs. The carrier is closer."  


        Jemma sat back in her copilot's chair and glanced at her tablet. Skye and Coulson had been asleep for hours. Coulson's blood-work was still being analyzed by Fitz, but he'd agreed to forward the test results to her. The DNA comparison would take longer to complete, but she already recognized several macro-molecules in his blood, similar to those in Skye, Lincoln, and Raina.  


        There was a loud snore, a snort, and a muffled 'Ow' behind them.  


        She hadn't wanted to broach the idea with Fitz, but she thought there might be a way to reverse what was done to Skye and the Director. She started looking into it when they discovered Skye was changed. Not for the first time she wished she had access to the terragen material itself. If she could understand how it changed them, she might be able to figure out how to change them back.  


        "QJ-36 this is SHIELD actual, over."  


          "SHIELD actual, this is QJ-36. Go ahead."  


        "Agent May, this is Gonzalez." Simmons sat up straighter at his gravely voice. "There is a situation at the Playground. We need you here ASAP."  


        Fitz. Jemma dug out her phone. _Fitz...need upd8...plz rspnd..._

   

        "I don't see why you let them go."  


          Jiaying watched Gordon as he paced her office. Her second in command had been anxious from the moment the quinjet took off. "Because it was necessary."  


          The argument was hours old already, and she was tired of it. She was tired, period. After speaking with Gonzalez and getting the man's hollow assurances she spent the rest of the early hours thinking about their situation. Her plan with Coulson hadn't worked, not in the way she expected. The man should have died, should have been the rallying point she needed to mobilize her people. Instead he turned out to be one of them. It was a miscalculation that was costing her dearly. Gordon was usually her staunchest supporter, behind her in everything she did. Now she could see that faith fraying at the edges.  


        "And Coulson?" He stopped and turned his head to the west, in the direction she knew the jet was headed. "Someone that new shouldn't be outside, you know that."  


        "Yes, I do." She stood and came around her desk. "But SHIELD was very clear in wanting their people returned, so we return them. And when his powers manifest and prove uncontrollable SHIELD will put him down, and Daisy will see them for the monsters they really are. The blocks I had Lincoln put in place should be fading already. We can only hope his powers have as much destructive potential as hers."  


        Gordon huffed. "And if they don't? If instead SHIELD embraces him?"  


        "Then we have a valuable ally at the very top of SHIELD's hierarchy, one that will prove useful when the time comes." She frowned. "Speaking of... how is Raina?"  


        "In her quarters." He looked away, and Jiaying felt a sliver of jealousy. For so long he had been her's and her's alone. "Since her trial she's less inclined to share her visions with anyone."  


        She rolled her eyes at that. Cal was right, the girl was a master manipulator. At their small gathering she argued that she had no way of knowing exactly what would happen, only that she saw Jiaying at the center of a swirl of violence that involved her meeting with Coulson. She was attempting to diffuse that conflict before it began. Why else would she approach Gordon with her concerns, someone she knew trusted Jiaying above everyone else? When the others voted in the girl's favor there was nothing she could do. Not openly. Not yet.  


        "Gordon," she started. " I need you to do something for me."  


        His smile was radiant. "Anything."  


        "I need you to make Raina trust you again," she held up a hand when he looked to protest. "I know it will be difficult but like you said, her abilities are unique and extremely useful. We need to know what's coming. SHIELD still has the stone, and if they ever discover how to use it..." she trailed off. "We'll have larger problems than _them_ to worry about."

      

        "How long has he been unconscious?"  


        Phil stared at Skye's father. Or what had been Skye's father, no one was really sure anymore. The man was strapped to a metal gurney, the braces almost too small to fit around his wrists.  


        "Nearly seven hours," one of Gonzalez's men, - Andrews, he thought – reported. "We administered the tetrodotoxin after he attacked Hewett."  


        Seven hours ago he was sleeping, stuffed with snacks from every continent. "Have they analyzed what he took?"  


        _Anger...disgust...monsters each and every one of them..._ Andrews handed him a tablet. "It's a mash-up of different drugs, mostly testosterone and steroids. If he emptied those three vials it's amazing he went as long as he did."  


        "And the change didn't occur until they administered adrenaline?"  


        _Guilt...orange and green streaked anger and loathing..._ "At first I thought it was an act, until the sensors went haywire. I authorized the crash team to enter the cell. You saw the rest."  


        Phil didn't need to see the footage, not again. Cal had torn through Hewett like she was nothing, then used one of the woman's limbs to beat uselessly against the force field until he was put down. In the hours since he was sedated the agent's remains were cleared away, but the lurid splashes of red remained. "It's lucky you didn't authorize his transfer to medical. There's no telling how much damage he would have done."  


        "Hewett's still dead. And that thing in there..."  


        Phil took a step back from Andrews. The man was angry, beyond angry. He had a vision of the other man dropping the force field and firing into Cal's head until nothing was left but a red ruin and brain splatter. "Thank you, Agent Andrews," he ignored the small shake in his voice, his hands clenched into fists he couldn't remember making. "That will be all."  


        Andrews took a shaky breath. "I set Connors to clearing out Hewett's things. She has family in Louisiana."  


        Phil nodded a dismissal, and Andrews headed for the stairs. _Fire...rage like a burning brand doused by cold sorrow._ "Agent Skye," the man said behind him.  


        Coulson didn't turn around. He kept his eyes on Cal, tried to reconcile this monster with the kind, generous man his former contacts proclaimed him to be.  


        "I feel like I have a scarlet A on my chest," Skye said quietly as she came to stand next to him, arms folded tightly.  


        He felt the same way. "It'll pass."  


        They watched Cal in silence. Even heavily sedated he twitched, muscle spasms that Simmons believed were caused by the cocktail of chemicals still rampaging through his system.  


        "Jemma said he has tracks on both his arms, the tops of his feet. Whatever he was taking he's been taking it a long time." She took a step closer to the cell. "He doesn't even look like himself anymore."  


        "The chemicals may explain why his behavior is so erratic." He kept himself calm, tried to approach the situation with clinical detachment and fight the overwhelming sadness that threatened to swamp him. "I have medical working on a way to flush his system." Dr. Chalmers and Jemma thought pumping him full of testosterone antagonists would work, provided what he'd done to himself was reversible.  


        Skye nodded. "May sent me to get you. Everybody's upstairs."  


        Phil sighed and headed for the stairs.  


        When they landed on the base it was to the aftermath of chaos. He meant what he said to Andrews. Had the man allowed medical to move Cal to the infirmary there was no telling how many agents he would have torn through before he was contained. His suspicion and distrust saved lives.  


        It still cost one.  


        Coulson ignored the apprehension that tightened the muscles of his shoulders as he made his way to his office, the conversations that went quiet at his approach. Gonzalez assured him that no one outside the initial contact team really knew what happened in Afterlife, that his transformation was deemed eyes only, but he couldn't shake the feeling that everyone knew he wasn't the man he was when he went to China.  


        May was already in his office when he got there, and judging by the hard set of her shoulders and her narrowed eyes she already had words with the two other people in his.  


        "Director Coulson, Agent May has been giving us a rundown of what happened in China," Weaver informed him when he closed the door.  


        "I'm sure she reported the facts as they were presented."  


        "As I was saying," May interrupted before Weaver could speak. "The people of Afterlife weren't hostile. Avoidant, afraid, but not openly hostile. That didn't change after Weaver opened fire. If anything they were more afraid."  


        "We'd like your input on this, Director Coulson."  


        He raised an eyebrow. "I don't really have one. I wasn't conscious very long when you pulled us out. I know Jiaying was concerned with me having to leave so suddenly after being...exposed."  


        _Inky, slithering unease..._ "And Skye's father? You've had the most interaction with him. What's your read on him?"  


        He fought the urge to clear his throat. Interaction... interesting way to describe three cracked ribs and a concussion "We knew that Cal was dangerous. We've seen some of the damage he can do before."  


        "And this concoction he takes?" Oliver looked down at a report. The man was still on the carrier. "What do you make of that?"  


        "Something he developed himself. Agent Skye mentioned in one of her debriefs that he spoke of bettering living through chemistry."  


        "Three vials of this...drug... were found on him when he was taken into custody."  


        "I got that from Agent Weaver's report." He turned to the woman. "And I'd like to know why this foreign substance wasn't reported to security the minute he was in custody."  


        She bristled. "We didn't know he'd injected it."  


        "You didn't think it was suspicious that a former doctor had dram vials on his person?" He tried, but he couldn't keep all of the disbelief out of his voice.  


        "He was perfectly calm in transit-"  


        "Which was obviously his way of lulling you into-"  


        "Enough." Gonzalez's voice was like a gunshot in the room and Coulson realized that he'd been damn near yelling at the woman. "Mistakes were made by everyone on this one, and it cost us one of our agents." He turned to Phil. _Smooth, smothering distrust, metallic and bitter...alien, shouldn't trust him can't afford not to..._ "That makes four of our people in seventy two hours, Director, including yourself. What I want to know is if this was random, or part of a larger plan."  


        "You think he was a Trojan horse?"  


        "I think that you were exposed to an alien mist that only through the grace of God didn't kill you the same day we were tricked into bringing that animal onto this base. What would have happened if he transformed in the infirmary, in transit? He took that drug before he turned himself over. I can't help but think those two things are connected."

  

        The Playground at night was usually a quiet place. When his people could be counted in the dozens, not hundreds, the Playground would calm down around eleven. The day crews would either be in their bunks or heading home, the skeleton crew that handled communications for the graveyard shift would be at their stations, and the hallways would be mostly empty. Now, with hundreds of SHIELD personnel roaming around it felt...not overcrowded... but full. Full the way it was meant to be.  


        That's what he kept telling himself.  


        Phil paced the short length of his quarters. He'd been back stateside for nearly twelve hours, most of that spent in the infirmary while Simmons started the Indexing process. Without a clear lead on what abilities he might have the file was still open. Personally he was holding out hope that he had no powers, that the GH-325 in his system was enough to save him from ending up like Tripp but not enough to trigger any other changes.  


        According to Skye, he was responding like an Inhuman. Halfway to the base he was struck with the kind of hunger he rarely felt outside a mission. When his stomach growled loud enough for Kayling to give him a speculative glance she laughed and tossed her backpack at him. It was filled with food, more than he should have been able to eat in three sittings. He polished off everything, including a bag of chocolate caramels (and he hated caramel) in under an hour. Simmons watched the whole thing, completely entranced and taking note of his caloric intake. Sky just smiled.  


        _"When I woke up I thought Lincoln was taking me around to show me Afterlife,"_ she said, grabbing a sandwich. _"He was really taking me to the cafeteria. I didn't know I could eat that much and not explode."_ According to Lincoln, extreme hunger was a normal side affect of the change, caused by the massive amount of energy the transformation took. When he asked why it seemed to take hours to hit him, she just shrugged. Simmons thought it was delayed because of the initial shock of the transformation itself. Whatever the reason, he finished everything Skye brought, then passed out in his seat like a kid riding home from the carnival.  


        At least he wasn't in quarantine, not exactly. He had free reign of the base, access to his files (and if Gonzalez thought that he hadn't made a copy of Fury's Toolbox long before turning it over, the man was completely insane), everything he needed. Which didn't explain why he felt like he was going to crawl out of his skin.  


        Phil stopped pacing and turned to his small work desk. He still had most of the pieces of a watch laid out on felt and waiting for him to put them together, but the thought of sitting down an focusing on the small parts didn't soothe him the way it would have before Afterlife. He turned to the treadmill tucked in the corner, but that didn't appeal to him, either. It felt too much like trying to run away from his problems and he was trying not to do that, physically or metaphorically.  


        He checked his heart monitor, a new addition that Skye insisted on, explaining that his heart rate should elevate before he experienced his first power surge and that it might be the only warning he had. He was at 70 BPM and holding steady.  


        _You focus on getting a handle on this, we'll handle SHIELD,_ that's what Gonzalez told him after their meeting. The man didn't trust him. Coulson knew it, he could feel it in the man's eyes, his words. He didn't trust him to keep SHIELD's interests a priority. He'd had to fight the urge to remind the man he'd been a SHIELD agent for most of his life, at this point longer than he hadn't. He didn't lie when he said he was a company man. He didn't know how to be anything else.  


        Absently, he went to his monitor and turned on the video feed for vault C. Palamas wasn't pacing the cell anymore. She was curled up in the space between the cot and wall, knees drawn up to her chest. She looked lost, abandoned, utterly alone and frightened. With a grimace he cut the feed and checked the monitor. 87 BPM.  


        It was a near thing, keeping himself calm when Gonzalez informed him of Palamas' escape attempt. After hearing the details he was seriously considering starting an Academy on-site and making every agent under his command undergo remedial training. The only thing that kept the woman from taking off with Morse and one of his jets was a tech checking the approved flight logs and calling for confirmation. At least Gonzalez order on that front were quick: ICE her, no explanation, no warning.  


        If Palamas were trying to escape, there was only one person she would be headed for. Ward said he was giving her back to them so they could help her, but he was seriously doubting that altruism now. Either she thought they were keeping them apart, or her being left in their care was part of the plan all along. Either way, it was a mess he had to sort out. He just needed to get his head on straight.  


        "Damn it."  


        The journey down to the gym was uneventful. He kept moving, acknowledged the random head nods or quiet 'Director's' sent his way. As he moved further down, away from the populated areas of the Playground he started to feel more like himself and reasoned this was a good idea. The tension that seemed to grip his spine eased, and he let out a sigh of relief when he saw the gym was completely empty.  


        Coulson grabbed a towel from the collection and set it on a bench next to his water bottle. He wrapped his hands without thinking, content to lose himself in the ritual before he sized up his opponent, shaking his arms and bouncing lightly on his feet.  


        He couldn't remember the last time he'd worked a heavy bag out of frustration. Before Audrey, certainly. The first punches sent the impact jarring up his arms, reminded him that he wasn't as young as he used to be and needed to take it easy, at least at the beginning.  


        As he worked the bag he felt the rest of the tension slip away, replaced by static calm. After a while his arms started to burn, unused to this kind of exercise, but he pressed on. He'd have to find the time to come down here more often, something that shouldn't be a problem judging by the way Gonzalez looked at him. He threw a combination of jabs, pleased at the feel of his knuckles impacting on the heavy leather. The calm he managed to dredge up was fading, replaced by a creeping dread he couldn't place.  


        "It's been a long time since I've seen you down here."  


        Coulson paused, but didn't let his guard down. He was breathing heavy, sweat stinging his eyes. "It's been a long time since I needed it."  


        May moved around him and caught the bag, bracing it against her body. When his hands fell she tapped it and he continued, punches lighter than before.  


        "Is this a coincidence, or are you checking up on me?" He asked, tone almost conversational.  


        "Little bit of both," May answered. "I was going to see if you wanted coffee, but this is better." She was silent as he punched, then smirked. "You keep dropping your left."  


          He threw a left cross, harder than he intended, and she rocked back a moment. "Sorry."  


        "Maybe what you need is a little sparring." May stepped back from the heavy bag.  


        He fought down a surge of laughter. "Oh no... the last thing I need right now is a concussion."  


          Melinda's smile was anything but reassuring. "I'll go easy on you."


	4. Chapter 4

        Robert Gonzalez's life had taken him many places he would never have imagined growing up in East Los Angeles. His mother always told him he'd grow up to be a great man, something his father echoed, but as a child he wondered how that would happen. His father was a mail carrier by day and welder at night who could barely speak English. Some of his earliest memories were of his father helping him with his homework, which he discovered later on was less help and more trying to learn himself. His mother worked odd jobs while he was at school so they could make ends meet. When he closed his eyes he could still see the porch of their small two-bedroom house, shoved between an apartment building and an alley. Still smell the gardenias his mother insisted on growing in mismatched flowerpots along the steps, no matter that the damn things rarely bloomed. 

        His life had taken him from that run-down neighborhood to UCLA, from college to the jungles of Vietnam. He'd gone from a soldier fighting with a gun to one fighting with information in shadow wars that determined the fate of the world. He'd seen things in his life that most sane people wouldn't imagine possible, things that at times he still couldn't believe. 

        Despite everything he experienced, hospitals still had the power to make him nervous. 

        Tomas Calderone looked small in his hospital bed, but then most people did. The edges of his bandages peaked out of the neck of his hospital gown. The piece of wood that pierced him missed his lungs by less than an inch. The doctors said he'd keep his arm, but it would take extensive physical therapy for him to regain much of its use. He didn't envy Tomas that. His own physical therapy sessions left him wanting to skin his doctor with a rusty razor. 

        A deep groan followed by a raspy cough brought his attention to the present. Calderone was staring at him, face pale but eyes bright. 

        "I must be in hell." 

        Robert raised an eyebrow at that. "Why?" 

        "Because if I was in heaven you'd be a stacked redhead in a tiny nurse's outfit." 

        Gonzalez laughed. "You must be improving if you're cracking jokes." 

        Calderone reached for the remote to his bed and started it moving until he was sitting up. The man was still too pale for his liking. "How's SHIELD?" 

        He kept his explanation of the past few days short, including only what information would be necessary for Calderone to form an opinion on what was happening. "So, there's a whole army of them now," the other man muttered. 

        "Army may be a little premature. Community, certainly. One that has tried hard to stay off our radar and succeeded for decades." 

        Tomas' laugh was punctuated by a groan of pain. "Don't take this the wrong way, boss, but that ain't too comforting from a hospital bed, especially when one of those things put you there." 

        Gonzalez focused on the window. It was nice to see actual sunlight after days of the artificial brand. "You shot at her." 

        "I was neutralizing the threat." 

        "Yes. And she defended herself." Gonzalez sighed. "Coulson showed me the security footage he recovered from the Guest House. She threw the gun away and you still took the shot." 

        Tomas pushed himself up further with his good arm. "That thing is dangerous." 

        "Her name is Skye." He leaned forward. "And like it or not, we need to get used to the idea of powered people. There are hundreds more like her in this Afterlife, who knows how many spread across the globe that even they don't know about." He settled back in his chair. "We need to have people like them on our side. God knows we don't need our enemies recruiting them. The two in Sokovia proved that." 

        Calderone's mouth twisted. "Is it something they put in the water over there? I'm gone for a week and suddenly you want to play nice with the freaks?" 

        "Want to? No." He still didn't trust Skye. It didn't matter if Jiaying was her mother or not, she believed it, and he didn't know her well enough to say for certain which side of the conflict she'd fall on if it ever came to that. "Needing to may become a reality we have to deal with, so we need to adjust our thinking. I've had more than enough people correcting me over the past few days on proper pronouns. Trust me, you don't want Agent May around when you refer to one of them as an 'it'." 

        The other man humphed. "Thought May would be on our side." 

        "She's on SHIELD's side, and that's all that matters." 

        Tomas was quiet for several minutes. "So, Coulson got exposed to this crystal...mist...whatever the hell it is. So what? Did he grow antlers?" 

        The thought made him chuckle darkly. Antlers would have been nice. At least they would know what they were dealing with. "We're still unsure what affect this terragen mist had on Director Coulson, if any. He's being monitored." 

        "But you're letting him remain Director." 

        "Until such time as he gives us a reason to remove him...yes." Gonzalez rotated his cane. He knew more than his fair share about life-altering changes. "Coulson isn't ideal, but he is the best out of a limited set of options." 

        Tomas winced as his arm shifted. "Weaver can run the Playground." 

        "We both know that wouldn't work. She doesn't work well in crisis situations. It's why she became a teacher in the first place." He sighed. "Coulson and his protege aren't my biggest concern at the moment. The man will do what he has to to keep SHIELD up and running, and she seems to be loyal to him, if not to SHIELD. My concern is with Fury." 

        "Fury's dead." 

        "Not according to Coulson." 

        

        She was pacing again. 

        Ward hadn't paced much in his time in Vault D. He exercised, he meditated. He spent hours staring at nothing or humming to himself. Once he went through the entire soundtrack of Phantom of the Opera, but he never paced. Certainly not the way Agent Palamas was now. 

        Coulson stared at her as she moved: five quick steps to one wall, a sharp turn, then five steps to the other. She was wearing scrubs in the same style as Ward's, arms folded tightly around her middle as if she were afraid she would fly apart. 

        Bobbi attempted to speak to Kara the day before, but the woman remained silent. She changed her face to Agent Morse's and wore a frozen grin until Bobbi walked out. Skye offered to try and speak with her, with the added argument that as Ward's former (at least, he hoped it was former) obsession she would be able to get a rise out of the woman if nothing else. Her joke about Ward making Palamas wear her face while they had sex fell flat, and left a sour taste in his mouth. Both he and May agreed they needed to keep the two women separated. He didn't put it past Skye to ask the question, and he didn't want to know how Kara would answer. 

        Five paces...turn...five paces...turn... 

        _Fear...sharp edged terror licking at his insides...shouldn't have agreed never wanted this didn't need it please please please..._

        He switched the laser grid so it was completely transparent, nose twitching at the splash of ozone that floated through the room. "Hello Kara." 

        She stopped so abruptly her hair shifted forward, but she didn't turn to face him. Her shoulders bunched, tension crawled along every line of her body and he forced himself to relax, to fight as his own muscles threatened to turn to rock. "Why are you here?" 

        "I wanted to speak with you," he kept his tone nice, even. Natasha used to call it is door-to-door salesman voice. "I understand you tried to leave with one of my agents. I'd like to know why." 

        Her chin flicked forward. "I didn't want to be a prisoner anymore." 

        _Lie._ "If you needed some fresh air, I could have arranged for you to take a walk topside." He let a little humor leak into his voice. "We all get a little stir crazy down here from time to time. You should see what Hunter does when he gets antsy." 

        She finally turned to face him. Kara Lynn Palamas would never have a good poker face: her eyes were too large and expressive, but at the moment she didn't need one. "You'd really let me step outside?" she asked, eyes dark and shining. "No guards, no restraints?" 

        "No." _Vicious, righteous anger...said they'd never trust me..._ "Not yet. But I would have tried to make those guards as unobtrusive as possible. Given you as much privacy as we were able." Her eyes said she didn't believe a word. "But that's not the reason you tried to rabbit with one of my agents." _Tight, coiled fear running jagged lines through his bones..._ "You were already wearing May's face. You could have stepped off this base any time you wanted. You could have gotten to the motor pool, taken a car, and driven off into the sunset before anyone was the wiser. Instead you attempted to fly off to parts unknown with Agent Morse." 

        She blinked, and suddenly he was staring at himself. "Maybe I just wanted to have a little fun," Palamas said in his voice. "She is a looker." 

        "You know, you don't really have the body type to pull me off." _Red, fierce anger like a battering ram..._ "I'm pretty sure I never had a rack like that, either." He pretended to think a moment. "Though there was this one op in Chihuahua..." 

        "Is this better?" And it never got easier, seeing Melinda's face on a stranger's body, hearing her voice when he knew she wasn't there. Knowing the other woman was floors above them somewhere, probably watching this entire interaction while an impostor wore her likeness. "I did get used to looking like this, before I got the mesh fixed." 

        "And how did you do that?" He stepped closer. "There are only a handful of people who could have fixed it outside a major lab, and we watch those. Who did you get to help you?" 

        _Evasion...guilt like a bruise on his heart..._ "No one special," she hedged. 

        There were twelve people he knew of who could have fixed the nanomesh. Seven were privately contracted in labs, three were currently working for various armed forces, one had retired to her family's properties in France. There was only one name on that list unaccounted for. "Is Dr. Allen still alive, or should we be looking for him in a ditch somewhere?" 

        She blinked again, and Palamas was wearing her own face. "He would have talked." 

        "Allen invented a revolutionary technology that would have literally changed the field of cosmetic surgery as we know it, and he never said a word to anyone. Not even after SHIELD fell and his NDS's were worth less than the paper they were printed on." He cocked his head. "So... whose idea was it to kill him, yours...or Wards?" She turned away from him and started pacing again, faster this time. "So it was Ward." 

        "It needed to be done." 

        "How much of what he made you do 'needed to be done', Kara?" He was honestly curious. "Because Grant Ward has a very strange definition of 'need'." She glanced at him but didn't stop pacing. " I suppose it makes sense, your attachment to him. You were programmed to follow Whitehall, and suddenly you found yourself without orders, Whitehall dead, with no one to turn to-" 

        "Ward took care of me!" 

        "Of course he did. He needed you to make sure he made it out of Puerto Rico alive." He keyed the tablet and a picture of Bakshi interfaced into the force field. _No, no no not him not him..._ " Tell me, how long after he was healed did he start prepping you for Bakshi?" 

        Phil felt a surge of anger that made him clench his jaw. "Ward got Bakshi for me!" The words were hissed, her face contorted in anger. "To pay him back for what he did to me!" 

        "And I'm sure the millions of dollars he got access to had nothing to do with it at all." 

        _Bubbling confusion..._ "What are you talking about?" 

        "Several of Bakshi's accounts were emptied in the days after his disappearance. The money was filtered through shell accounts and dummy corporations, before finally being converted to cash at a Cayman island bank two days after he left you in our custody." He closed Bakshi's picture. "I know Grant Ward, Kara, better than you do." 

        "You don't know anything about him!" 

        "I know he's a sociopath who uses everyone he comes in contact with to further his own agenda. I know he makes you think he cares for you. I know he makes you care for him, and then uses that to his advantage. To make you do things for him you'd never think about doing yourself, all because you can't imagine disappointing him." He didn't know where that last sentence came from, but it made Kara stop pacing and face him again. 

        _Sadness...fear...pain...no, he wouldn't do that not Ward never Ward..._ "You're lying." The words were quiet. 

        Coulson sighed. 

        "You want to know why I tried to leave with Morse?" Kara came closer to the laser grid, close enough that she had to feel the heat of the array on her face. She blinked, at it was Skye staring back at him. 

        "He really wanted me." She lifted a hand, ran it along her new features. "I shot him, you know. Four times in the chest. He was wearing a vest, so only one actually did any damage. Guess May isn't as good a teacher as she thinks she is." 

        "Kara-" 

        She flipped her hair. "Bakshi...well... it started out for Kara, but then Ward thought about it. Bakshi was the one who designed the mind control protocols, implemented each step himself. Ward thought they might prove useful." Her smile was sharp as knives. "Just think of it. Your little hacker ready to do anything he told her to. Ready and waiting...eager for him to get her out of his system." Her words were rancid, coated with dark amusement and beneath it _not right not true..._ "I mean, why have a copy when you can have the real thing?" 

        "Stop. Lying." 

        Skye's expression went blank, the amusement sliding off like oil. 

        Coulson blinked at the sudden change. It didn't seem like she knew he was there anymore, examining her. She was just standing there, still...waiting waiting waiting... "Why did you try and leave with Agent Morse?" 

        "She had to pay for what she did to me." 

        _Truth._ "What did she do?" 

        Kara's face fell. "She gave up a safe house. She brought me in, handcuffed me and turned me over to him." She shuddered. _Disgust...revulsion...compliance...have to comply...no pain when you comply..._ "She saw what he did to me and didn't stop it. Any of it. Then she left me there. She got out and she left me with them like I was nothing." 

        Phil fought the urge to turn a hand over his face. Bobbi was following his orders when he told her to give up the safe houses in New York, when she extracted Simmons. "So why does Ward want her?" 

        "For me." Tears slid down her cheeks and he felt something, a breeze at his back that he knew meant resistance so he pushed. Kara stood up straighter. "To help me recover. To make her admit what she did to me. Whenever I managed to escape I was supposed to contact Ward so he could meet me and we could do the work." 

        He'd examine that statement another time. "How were you going to contact Ward?" 

        "Via text message. Give him the coordinates for the rendezvous in Spain." 

        He needed that number. She gave it to him without being told. 

        "Agent Palamas-" 

        "Sir!" 

        He turned. Simmons and Dr. Chalmers were frozen at the top of the stairs, Chalmers holding what looked like a portable defibrillator. A body hit the floor behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> I took some of Edward James Olmos' actual history and twined it with Robert Gonzalez. Both were born and raised in Los Angeles, and EJO's father was a mail carrier and welder (At least, according to Wikipedia). Any other details are mine.


	5. Chapter 5

        When Raina was a little girl her grandmother used to tell her stories before she went to bed. The woman was a born story teller, and her words transformed her small bedroom into lush forests and majestic throne rooms. The stories she told weren't the usual ones other little girls in her class heard. There was no Sleeping Beauty waiting for Prince Charming to wake her with love's kiss. No little girl with nothing but a red cape to protect her from the world. Her grandmother's stories were about transcendence. About angels that fell from the sky and promised deliverance. About what was taken from them long ago in years almost beyond memory. 

        "You're a princess, Raina," her grandmother would say as she brushed her hair, slender, strong fingers coaxing the curls into neat braids. It was their nightly ritual, getting her hair combed and set so they wouldn't have to waste time on it the following morning. "Never forget that." 

        She was told of Wakanda, a small blip on the map that wasn't in any of her history or geography books. The only kingdom in Africa that didn't fall to the invaders no matter how many waves of soldiers other countries threw at them. A country that was to this day closed to the rest of the world. About how her great-grandfather was betrayed by his own people and cast out, exiled, taking nothing but the clothing on his back and his young daughter with him when he fled. 

        "My father knew," her grandmother would say. "He knew that the people needed to change...to evolve... but they said it was blasphemy, that he had been corrupted by the artifacts left by the Kree." Her voice would always go soft then, as if she were telling the deepest of secrets. "But they were wrong. It is in us, Raina. The ability to be more than what we seem." Her grandmother would kiss her forehead and hug her with a strength that belied her thin frame. "One day, my _kekere-binrin_ , you will finish what he started. You will see what we become." 

        When her grandmother died (a thump in the middle of the night, thread-bare robe spread over the corpse like a shroud) Raina wrapped her body in trash bags and dragged her into the dumpster behind their modest apartment building. She took a moment to think about how light the woman was; her gaunt, frail body like a wrapped bundle of twigs. It wasn't the burial a queen deserved, not by a long shot, but she promised one day to make it up to her. After it was done, her grandmother buried beneath bags of refuse, she dressed herself and walked to school as always. It took nine months for Social Security to catch on to the fact that Jillian Bashenga was dead, another month of dodging Child Services before she was placed in her first group home. 

        Raina stared out at the night beyond her window. Only a few candles burned in her quarters, leaving most of it shrouded in darkness. She made out the pale shape of a lizard scampering up the tree outside before it disappeared into the foliage and wondered if it ever felt lonely. Afterlife was different from the group homes, but it was still the same in many respects. It was a place for outcasts, for those society didn't want. This was the end of the line for her, the only place that would take her after her transcendence. She caught sight of her reflection in the glass, let her eyes rove over the flattened nose, the spines that covered most of her body. She wished she could face her grandmother now, ask what beauty there was in her. 

        "Raina?" 

        She turned around. Gordon was standing in her doorway. "Long time, stranger," she said, voice cold. 

        He grimaced. "I'm sorry-" 

        "Don't bother." She huffed out a laugh but stayed where she was. "We both know you're not." 

        "I am, actually," he pressed. "May I come in?" 

        "Would you stay outside if I say no?" she asked. 

        Gordon smiled, and she pushed down the rush of heat that warmed her stomach. "I think this conversation will be awkward enough without having it from your porch." 

        She thought for a moment. Her week of isolation was wearing, and she wanted to see a familiar face, even if it was the man who betrayed her. "Come in." 

        He came forward and settled on the small couch near her desk. "How have you been?" 

        She cocked and eyebrow. "Do you care?" 

        "Yes." And damn him, she couldn't hear the lie in his voice. "You've been through a very traumatic experience." 

        She let out a full-throated laugh. "Traumatic." Contempt dripped off the word. "Nice euphemism for being put on trial for your life." 

        He frowned. "It would never have come to that." 

        "We both know that's not true." She saw it: standing before fucking Jiaying and the others, pleading for her life, for understanding. Her visions always cut out before the end so she hadn't known her own fate, but she knew there were only two choices. She would either live or die based on the judgment of people who hadn't known her a month. 

        The story of her life. 

        Gordon was silent, sightless eyes staring at the folded hands in his lap. "I'm sorry," he said finally. "For not trusting your vision. For not believing in you when you came to me." 

        "Why should you have believed me?" she asked in her most flippant tone. "I'm the liar, the manipulator. Cal believed that, so did Skye. No one in their right mind would trust anything I say." For so long that was true of her. Her freedom, her very life, depended on it. But here, in Afterlife, she hadn't spoken a single lie. 

        "Cal did warn us of your...aspirations," Gordon told her. "He said you could only be trusted to do what was ultimately best for yourself." 

        She smiled, and something in it made him shift. "Look at me, Gordon." She held her arms out so he could take her in. With her hood down her spines gleamed in the scant candle light, some of them sticking through her clothing. "Look at us. How would destroying Afterlife be best for me?" She felt tears creeping into her voice and let them. Most of her life was spent hiding her emotions. To be the smiling seductress, the distraction, the pretty girl in the flower dress, and she was tired. "Where could I go, looking like this? The people _here_ find it hard to look at me. I don't have anywhere else." 

        Gordon hung his head at her words. 

        "It doesn't matter, anyway," she said, turning to face her window. "Whoever they sent to speak with Jiaying is dead, Afterlife was attacked, and who knows what SHIELD is planning." She was surprised, actually. She thought SHIELD would have nuked the entire compound by now. Her visions were stubbornly absent during her isolation. What good was the gift of foresight if it didn't give you time to prepare? 

        "Coulson's still alive." 

        She turned sharply. "What?" 

        "Coulson survived the mist," he explained. "Didn't you see it?" 

        "No..." In her vision she saw a suited arm slowly turned to stone, felt Jiaying's horror, Skye's heartbreak. Somehow Coulson was always there, always at the heart of it. "He survived the transformation?" 

        "He's one of us," Gordon confirmed. "The reason you haven't seen him is because SHIELD demanded he return with the rest of them as soon as his treatment was complete. Jiaying's hopeful Skye will be able to help him transition in the outside world." 

        Raina shivered, but not from cold. It was the feeling of something momentous slithering through her unconscious mind. It wasn't enough to take her over, not yet, but it was there. She cleared her throat. "It's late, Gordon." It was, but considering the fact that she slept most of the day away it wasn't really late for her. "I'm tired." 

        He nodded. "Of course." 

        He was halfway to the door when she called over his shoulder, "Gordon?" 

        "Yes?" 

        She softened her shoulders, let something like a smile creep over her features. "If you're not busy tomorrow, think you could stop by again?" 

        He smiled. "It's pizza night tomorrow, any requests?" 

        When he left the Raina let her features settle into neutrality before turning back to the night. 

* * *

        "Are you sure you're feeling all right?" 

        The question was so absurd it made him want to laugh, but Coulson had the feeling that if he started laughing he wouldn't be able to stop. "I'm fine, Simmons." He wasn't, he really wasn't, but he learned a long time ago how to fall apart on his own time. "How is Agent Palamas?" 

        It was Dr. Chalmers who answered. "Unconscious, but stable." The woman leaned against a work bench, dark eyes sharp and assessing. "But what caused it is a mystery." Her expression said that mystery began and ended with him. 

        Coulson fought the urge to look down at his hands. 

        Kara Palamas was in the infirmary, handcuffed to a hospital bed. When Simmons and Chalmers entered the vault with the medical team the former agent was barely breathing, eyes staring vacantly at the wall. Her vitals had become erratic while he questioned her, they explained when he asked. While they worked on Kara he placed himself in voluntary quarantine and waited for the two doctors to finish with the most pressing emergency. The look on their faces when they returned to the main lab to find him sitting on the bed reading a magazine was comical. 

        "Director," Simmons' voice was calm and cool through the glass. "Your pulse was over 200 BPM. Body temperature, nerve conduction...everything was elevated beyond your normal baseline." _Beyond human..._ " I expected to find you on the floor clutching your chest with the beginnings of a heart attack. What were you feeling down there?" 

        "She was lying." He knew that, he could practically taste it on every word. "I needed her to tell me the truth. So she did." 

        The two doctors glanced at each other. "Are you saying you believe the information you were able to get is genuine?" 

        "Yes." He knew it. Palamas hadn't lied to him, not after he... He frowned. 

        "Sir," Simmons started slowly. "How can you be sure her intel is accurate?" 

        He took a deep breath. What he was about to say sounded crazy, even in his own head, but it made sense in a way he couldn't articulate. "Because she couldn't lie. Not then. Not to me." 

        Simmons and Chalmers shared another look before moving near the back wall and huddling around each other speaking in tones too low for him to hear. _Interest tickling his ribs...need...what is this what does it mean more tests not enough data..._

        "I don't care how many tests you have to run to figure this out," he called from bed. "Do them." 

        Both doctors froze at his words, twin heads coming up slowly. Anita came back to the door. "You could hear us?" Dr. Chalmers asked slowly. 

        "No." Damn it, he was tired, and his head was starting to feel like Thor was using it as a tent peg. 

        "Then how did you-" 

        Simmons laid a hand on the other doctor's shoulder. _Professional, need to stay professional..._ "We'll start additional testing immediately, Director." She frowned at the hand he was using to massage his temple around the sensor. "Are you in pain?" 

        "Headache," he answered brusquely. The lights were starting to develop halos. Wonderful. The last thing he needed right now was a migraine. 

        "We'll get you a painkiller." Simmons made notations on his chart. "Is there anything else you need, Director Coulson?" 

        _To go back in time and prevent this whole shit show from ever happening._ "Just a couple aspirin and some water." 

  

        Simmons watched as Coulson leaned back against the bed, one hand rubbing wearily at his eyes. Twenty minutes ago she gave him the requested aspirin and marked the exact time he swallowed the two pills on his chart. She tapped her tablet and viewed the secure medical suite. Palamas was still unconscious but her vitals were good and getting stronger as time went by. She and Dr. Chalmers were confident that she would regain consciousness. 

        _And Fitz laughed when I said I was going to medical school._

        The first time she had to apply more than a band-aid to one of her fellow agents she made the decision. It wasn't difficult; a surprising amount of her courses from biochemistry overlapped with the medical program at Oxford. The rest was getting special dispensation for correspondence courses, applying for the necessary funding (which SHIELD so graciously provided before everything went to hell in a hand-basket), and finding time to practice for her exams in between saving the world. It took nearly three years, which was a sore point, but in the end she managed to put another degree under her belt, one she was putting to greater and greater use. She even managed to impress Dr. Chalmers, and she had the distinct impression that very little impressed the salt-and-pepper haired woman. 

        Jemma checked the time again. It was early afternoon but the lab was almost deserted. That was partly Fitz's doing; clearing everyone out so the Director could have some privacy by giving them assignments everywhere but the main lab. He had come in a little while ago, but left shortly after assuring himself that the Director was all right. 

        Jemma noted the way his hand trembled as the questions he tried to ask became twisted. His ability to communicate had improved remarkably since his drowning, but stress and worry added to his aphasia, which in turn increased his stress. It was a never-ending spiral that could reduce him to tears, or more rarely bouts of violence that left him with a damaged work station and the inability to express himself properly for hours. After five minutes Coulson gave him a gentle 'I'm fine, Fitz' before asking the engineer about his latest project. 

        A small movement in the observation room brought her attention back to the Director. His hand dropped to his chest and stayed there. She made a note of the time. _Subject given 20 mg of Diazepam at 1315. After forty minutes subject appears to be unconscious. Vitals remain elevated but within acceptable limits. EEG shows electrical activity is still elevated well beyond baseline. Suggest fMRI to confirm..._

        "That wasn't aspirin," Skye's voice came from behind her. 

        "Not just aspirin, no," Jemma hedged as she finished her thought, then turned around. 

        Skye was staring into the observation room with her arms folded. Her friend looked tired, faint lines tracing themselves around her eyes and mouth. "Did you even ask before you doped him?" The question was flat. 

        "I had no choice." Jemma ran a hand through her hair. "He hasn't slept more than a handful of hours since returning from China." She knew, because she'd kept close watch on him since they landed, trying to figure out what gifts he may have been given, if there was something in his biology that would give itself away. 

        "So...when you kept trying to sedate me after San Juan you were worried about my sleep schedule?" 

        Skye's tone was confrontational, edged with anger, and Simmons took a deep breath, pushing down her own frustration with a smile that barely tilted her lips. "I can show you the data if you don't believe me." She reached for her tablet and pulled up Coulson's bio data. "He's running on fumes. His body is burning through calories at an astonishing rate, and his blood sugar is worrying. What happened with Palamas couldn't have been helpful." What she really wanted to do was start a saline drip with a banana bag and supplement mix, but she knew he'd never agree to it. He was still hovering at the bottom of the scale, so she couldn't force the issue. 

        The other woman's expression softened slightly, and Jemma released the breath she was holding. Director Coulson had been pushing himself since coming back from China. His vitals weren't as good as they could have been, but those weren't the reasons she slipped him a sedative along with the aspirin. 

        "I'm sorry, Jemma, I..." Skye trailed off, eyes going to the isolation room. Coulson was sprawled back on the bed. "I just hate seeing him in there." 

        "We all do," she soothed. Each of them had spent time in quarantine over the years, and it never got easier. "This is just a precaution, nothing more." In 12 hours she would clear him for release provided there wasn't another incident. 

        Skye sighed and went to the small panel by the door. She pressed in a code, and the glass went opaque. Simmons remembered how much the other woman hated being in observation after Puerto Rico, how it left her feeling exposed as well as isolated when the lab techs would sneak glances at her when they thought she wasn't looking. One of the first things Coulson did after she was released was order smart glass to replace the original panes. "How long is he gonna sleep?" 

        "Six to seven hours." Enough time for her to finish the DNA analysis and make sense of the scans they took of Agent Palamas' brain, provided his new metabolism didn't burn through the drug quicker. When Skye didn't move she made her voice as comforting as possible. "He'll be fine. Skye. Some much needed rest, a lot of food, and we'll see if we can release him in the morning." 

        Sky lingered a few more minutes. Jemma was about to suggest she go get some rest herself when Gonzalez entered the lab. 

        "Agent Simmons," he nodded in her direction. "Agent Skye." He walked towards the isolation room, eyes steady as if he could see through the glass. "How is Director Coulson?" 

        "Sleeping, at the moment," she answered. 

        "And Palamas?" 

        "Unconscious, but stable. Dr. Chalmers is with her now, I believe." 

        Gonzalez tapped his cane on the floor and turned to Skye. "Any idea what caused that?" 

        Skye's expression shuttered and Jemma tried to catch her eye. _Please, be civil,_ she willed in the other woman's direction. She didn't like the council member either, but she knew how to play office politics when she had to. 

        "If you mean do I think Director Coulson has anything to do with Agent Palamas' current state?" Her voice could cut glass. "I don't know." 

        "Weaver said he was questioning her when she collapsed. That there were discrepancies in Director Coulson's vital signs that point to this being a possible expression of his powers." He turned to Simmons. "Is that true?" 

        Jemma opened her mouth, then closed it again. Skye was watching her, expression clearly saying not to say anything that would implicate the Director, while Gonzalez was assessing her for a lie. If she lied to him and he found out she knew he would remove Coulson from her direct care, and she couldn't allow that. "Director Coulson's heart rate was elevated to over 200 BPM," she said slowly. "We learned from Agent Skye that it is one of the most accurate predictors of Inhuman power usage." _I'm sorry, Skye._ "But what Director Coulson did, if he did anything at all, is still unclear." She launched into an explanation of the additional sensors they were using since the incident to track different functions. Gonzalez listened intently, occasionally asking questions. 

        Skye was silent. 

        _I'm doing this for all of us,_ she wanted to say to her friend when she finished. _We need the council to back us on this. Without proper testing we'll never understand what is really happening, how the terragen mist works on human cells, why you survived and Tripp died._

        "Do you have anything to add, Agent Skye?" she asked, hoping to draw the other woman back into the conversation. 

        "I'd like to state for the record...again... that I believe the best course of action concerning Director Coulson is to allow him to return to Afterlife," her words were calm and measured. It was eerie, how much she could sound like May. "If what happened with Agent 33 is some kind of byproduct of his abilities it just proves he needs training sooner rather than later." 

        Gonzalez huffed a breath. "I will take that under advisement, Agent Skye. Agent Simmons, how soon do you think you can get a work up on Director Coulson?" 

        She calculated. She was already running side-by-side analysis of the Director, Skye, and Lincoln, crosschecking for DNA markers. There were tests she still wanted to run, but he would have to be awake for most of them. "With the right resources and the Director's cooperation... twenty-four hours."


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello. I'm sorry it's been so long in getting this chapter up. It's been sitting for over a week, and I finally had the time to post. Hope you enjoy

    

        Above anything else, Phil Coulson was a realist. He didn't spend much time contemplating what could have been or should have been. He focused on what was, even if that was turned out to be entirely outside his current experience. It was a trait that saw him through Ranger School, that made him an effective field operative for over twenty years.      

        After he woke up from his impromptu nap (and he was really going to have a heart-to-heart with Simmons over her administration of narcotics) he let the doctors run him through the gauntlet. There were cognitive and fitness tests, strength and endurance trials, coordination and reflex checks. He hadn’t had such a thorough examination since he was recruited by SHIELD. At least they didn’t need to take any more blood, though Simmons had a whole other array of samples she wanted.      

        When both doctors were satisfied with the plethora of data he was released with the stern warning to adhere to his new eating schedule on pain of being hooked up to an IV. A trip to the kitchen to load up on food (several pieces of chicken, salad, mixed vegetables and two brownies for desert) he sat in his quarters and thought as he ate. He focused on his interrogation of Kara. Remembered his own thoughts and emotions but there, layered on top of them like oil on water, were feelings that didn't belong. He pulled up the security footage and watched it with a careful eye, trying to discern what he was feeling at any given moment. When Kara put on Skye’s face he’d gotten angry, furious, at what she was doing. She’d already used May’s likeness against them, attempted to kidnap one of his agents for who knew what purpose, and he wanted it to stop. He wanted – needed – the truth of Ward’s plans, and though he couldn’t say exactly how he managed it, he knew that’s what he forced from Kara.      

        And it nearly killed her.      

        Coulson massaged the bridge of his nose. It wasn't just Kara. Now that he pin-pointed the sensation he followed it backwards to the first time he woke in Afterlife with Skye watching over him. The sheer relief he felt on waking up that he mistook for his own concern, but on examination it wasn't relief over seeing her, it was relief over seeing _himself_ wake up. The more he looked at the past few days, the more a pattern emerged. He'd ignored the flashes at first. Chalked them up to high-running emotions and having to rapidly adjust his worldview to include himself in the Inhuman equation, even when those flashes were the exact opposite of what he’d been feeling just moments before. Phil finished his dinner (he even snapped a picture of his mostly clean plate and sent it to Simmons as proof that he was following orders) and pulled up the information Hill sent him during the Ultron crisis.      

        He met Strucker a few times over the years. The man was a brilliant mechanical engineer with a background in Chemistry and genetics, a man with a resume that was tailor-made to attract SHIELD’s attention. From what he remembered Strucker was meticulous in his research, careful of his goals, and always looking to advance. He was made head of STATION after the invasion of New York and tasked with studying the scepter. Finding out Strucker was HYDRA was a blow he knew Fury was still recovering from. The former Director trusted the scientist as much as he trusted anyone, believed he was the key to uncovering the scepter’s secrets. At the end he had access to all of the alien tech they recovered from the invasion and an almost unlimited budget, thanks to fear mongering in the World Security Council and their desire to create weapons capable of dealing with extraterrestrial threats.      

        Above everything, Wolfgang von Strucker was a scientist. He kept careful research notes on all his experiments. The results of those experiments would haunt him for a long time. There were hundreds of failures before Strucker found Wanda and Pietro Maximoff. Hundreds of people who were exposed to the staff with results ranging from rampant, uncontrolled mutation (a total of three hundred and fifty eight, and the pictures of their corpses made him want to vomit everything he’d ever eaten), to brain death and insanity. Only Wanda and Pietro, his ‘miracles’ as he referred to them in his notes, survived successive exposures. Before Wanda Maximoff telepathy was considered an impossibility. Of the hundreds on the Index there wasn’t a single confirmed case. The suspected telepaths were most often cold readers who were just that good at picking their marks, or were victims of strange circumstance. Mind control could be done to a certain extent through technology, or the more brutal methods of torture and reeducation. Neither method gave instant or reliable results.      

        Maximoff was capable of doing both, instantly. Powers developed from exposure to alien energies. Strucker determined that it was neuro-electric interfacing that gave her telepathy, the ability to literally synch her nervous system to another person and gain control. Phil read through her file, along with the mission reports submitted by the Avengers. The accounts of the hallucinations she induced in the group were disturbing. Each gave the barest outline of the event with the exception of Banner, and knowing the man’s history Phil could imagine what nightmares the girl unleashed on him.      

        His computer chirped as he worked, and Phil sighed before opening the connection. “Hill.”      

        Maria looked carefully blank and she examined him with her eyes. “Heard through the grapevine you were exposed to an alien substance.”      

        “Must be some grapevine.” It wasn’t that he hadn’t known Fury had someone on his base, he just would have liked the courtesy of knowing who it was. “Cap know you’re consorting with the enemy?”      

        Her mouth turned down at the corners. “Fury’s still working on him.”      

        He was halfway surprised that Roger’s hadn’t found their base already and demanded they disband. “Let me know how that goes.”      

        They stared at each other for a moment, then her eyes softened. “Do you need anything from our end?”      

        Phil thought for a moment. “You did intake on Maximoff?”      

        Hill nodded. “Blood work, scans, you name it.”      

        “Good. I need them.” He had a theory, one that he hoped Simmons would be able to verify.      

        “Understood.” She took a deep breath, and he knew what was coming.      

        “No.”      

        “You’ll have to face them sooner or later.”      

        “Not right now, I don’t.” He knew how hard Stark took his death, how it affected Natasha and Clint. He couldn’t deal with them on top of everything else happening.      

        Hill’s eyes were hard. “You might need them to handle this Inhuman problem,” she pushed.      

        “There’s no problem yet. And if I do, I’ll call.”      

        It was a dismissal, but Hill kept on. “You need to get in front of this thing, Coulson.”      

        “Acknowledged.” He hoped, prayed, that Jiaying and her people didn’t become a problem that he needed the Avengers to handle.      

        Something off screen caught Maria’s attention. “I’ll call in two days.”      

        “I’ll be waiting.”      

        When the connection shut off Phil ran a hand over his face. His week was just getting better and better. 

* * *

    

        Vault D was swiftly becoming her own personal hell.      

        When Ward was moved to the basement cell Coulson tried to put her mind at ease by explaining the security measures in place. The vault was designed to be impenetrable. The walls were four inches of concrete on five sides, and beneath that was a two inch layer of solid steel. The force field ran on its own generators and would remain running for weeks even if they had a complete power outage. If he somehow managed to escape, the doors to the vault could only be opened by an electronic code that changed every twenty four hours, and any attempt to force the door from the inside would result in a complete lockdown that could only be lifted from the Director’s office.      

        None of that kept her from sleeping with a gun under her pillow for the first three months of his stay.      

        If Ward was a broken dream of someone she could have loved, then Cal was the nightmare version of a father. As a girl she tried to imagine what her parents were like. At first it was fanciful dreams of them being superheroes, that one day they would fly to her small window at St. Agnes and take her away. The older she got, the darker her vision of them became. Had they died in some terrible accident? Were they drug addicts who just couldn’t take care of a kid on the streets? Had she been born in a prison and given over to the state to raise? When she discovered her connection to SHIELD she assumed they were people who got on the wrong side of the secret agency. People who were most likely buried in a shallow grave.      

        The reality was so much worse.      

        Calvin Johnson was a cold-blooded murderer. She’d seen his handiwork first hand in the field, forced herself to watch as Hewett’s remains were cleared from the room. He was completely insane, suffered from unpredictable mood-swings, and was fixated on her in a way that was at turns sweet and terrifying. Even Ward had been leery of him, and she never saw him leery of anyone. She knew he tore through an entire village searching for her after SHIELD took her, and there was no telling how many bodies he left in his wake over the next twenty five years. That was juxtaposed against the almost painfully earnest man who wanted nothing more than to spend time with her and her mother, to get to know her. She didn’t doubt for a moment that he loved her. It was enough to give her a migraine. If there was one thing both Ward and Cal had in common, it was their obsession with her. Ward had twisted their tentative relationship, just barely going beyond friendship, into an all-consuming passion. He lied to her, threatened to rape her, kidnapped her…and how fucked up was it that those things fit so neatly into Grant Ward’s version of love? She was certain Cal would have kidnapped her and used his concoctions to turn her into a child if it meant he could have his family back. He willingly worked with Whitehall, the man he knew tore her mother to pieces, just to get close to her. Both men had maneuvered her into place like a chess piece, turning her into something that wasn’t quite human, that was more dangerous than both of them combined.      

        _We’re the ones that need protection from her…_

        Skye shook the thoughts away as she stared at her father. He was still comatose, strapped down to a gurney with machines breathing for him and keeping careful track of his vitals. Simmons said they were pumping a low dose of tetrodotoxin into his cell every twelve hours while the steroid antagonists did their work. So far his body seemed to be reverting back to normal. The restraints didn’t bite into the skin on his wrists anymore, and the raised veins on his neck were receding.      

        The last time she spoke to him he was telling her about a little Italian bakery outside Milwaukee he was sure had to still be around, regaling her with tales of their bon bons and cannoli. She promised that she’d check, and bring him an order of whatever he wanted once he was processed. He’d turned so serious then, telling her how proud of her he was. She dismissed it at the time, but looking back it sounded like he was telling her goodbye for the last time.      

        “Probably not the reunion you were looking for, is it?”      

        Skye half-turned. Hunter was at the top of the stairs, arms folded as he leaned against the wall.      

        “You know what they say,” she tried to joke, but the words were empty. “You can’t choose family.”      

        “Tell me about it,” he started down the stairs. “Compared to some of my cousins, your dad isn’t half bad.”      

        Skye rolled her eyes. “I highly doubt you have cousins that leave a literal trail of bodies behind them everywhere they go.”      

        Lance’s eyes went dark. “One day, when we’ve both had way…way… to much tequila, remind me to tell you how I got into this business.” He jerked his head back towards the stairs. “Come on, sitting in this tomb isn’t going to make anything better.”      

        She didn’t move. “Mack all packed up?”      

        Lance sighed. “You know it isn’t you, right?”      

        “Pretty sure it is,” she answered with a grimace.      

        “Well,” he shoved his hands in his pockets. “Not just you, anyway.”      

        Skye didn’t respond. She thought she and Mack were friends, but that was all a lie. He and Bobbi were there to gather intelligence on a target, assess their strengths and weaknesses. He helped Gonzalez blow a hole in their base, in her home. Earlier, when he showed up on base to clear his quarters he passed her in the hallway and didn’t even acknowledge she was there. Not as bad as it could have been, but it still stung. She just wished his act hadn’t worked so well with everyone else. “He tried to talk to Fitz in the garage earlier.”      

        Lance looked at the floor. “How did that go?”      

        “Fitz threw a wrench at him. Didn’t hit, though.” At Hunter’s raised eyebrow she shrugged. “At least he’s not ignoring him anymore.”      

        “I fail to see how that’s an improvement.”      

        “You didn’t know him before Ward.” She rolled her neck. There were times when she really missed her van and the simplicity of doing podcasts about the evils of Big Brother. “Me and Coulson are still us, you know. Just with… powers.”      

        “The powers part isn’t the issue.”      

        Skye nodded. “It’s the how we got them part.” She bit her lip. “Do you think Mack and Bobbi were ever really loyal to SHIELD?”      

        “That’s the problem: they were.” He gestured towards the stairs. “It just wasn’t our SHIELD. It’s probably for the best, anyway, Mack leaving. Would you trust him to watch your back after the last few weeks?”      

        She didn’t know. “Do you trust Bobbi?”      

        Lance shrugged. “To watch my back? Sure.” He keyed in the code for the door. “To watch my back at the expense of her mission? Not a chance.”      

        “You know, you two have the most messed up interpersonal relationship I’ve ever seen.”      

        “Glass houses,” he answered back with a raised eyebrow. “So,” Hunter drawled when the vault doors closed behind him. “Fitz said Simmons had your boyfriend jumping through hoops early this morning.”      

        “Coulson is not my boyfriend, Hunter.”      

        He grinned. “You keep telling yourself that.”      

        Skye punched him in the shoulder. “Careful, love,” he complained. “I got shot trying to save you, remember?”      

        “So you’re gonna milk that, are you?”      

        “Til the stiches come out.” His expression was wounded.      

        She hit him again, gentler that time, because he did take a bullet trying to save her from Hyrda.      

        They were headed to quarters when he spoke again. “Mack’ll be back. He just needs time to get his head in the game.”      

        “He’s quitting SHIELD after thirteen years,” Skye countered.      

        Lance shrugged. “Man needs to get his priorities in order.” He glanced around, then leaned closer to her. “Getting possessed by the alien stuff really did a number on him. He needs to trust himself again. A few weeks working on cars in some garage and he’ll come to his senses.”      

        She wasn’t convinced.      

        Skye sighed as she closed the door to her room. Coulson managed to make sure everyone under his command had the ability to seek outside housing if they wanted, but she turned it down. The base had more than enough rooms to house a hacker and her computers before the influx of Gonzalez’s people.      

        She brought her laptop out of hibernation and clicked on the secure connection. It was one of the things she set up before leaving Afterlife, and right now she was very glad she did. She set the connection to ping every ten minutes and settled on her bed with her mp3 player. Today definitely called for some Rammstein.      

        It was after noon when the video screen came up. Seeing her mother’s face made her feel better, if only a little. “Mom,” she said as she rolled off her bed.      

        "Skye,” Jiaying folded her hands on her desk. “How are you?"      

        "Been better." It was night in Afterlife. She could it was dark outside the window behind her mother, imagined the smell of jasmine and incense that always seemed to linger in the air of her office.      

        "And Director Coulson?” Her mother asked. “Is he doing well?"      

        "Ummm..." she sniffed. “Not so much, no."      

        Skye explained everything; Gonzalez, Palamas, Coulson letting Jemma and Chalmers run who knew how many tests to determine what he’d done. When she was finished her mother looked sad.      

        "I should have forced the issue," Jiaying said quietly. "I knew his place was here with us, at least until he gained control. No one so new should be left on their own."      

        "And I should have backed you up more." At the time she was too busy trying to keep SHIELD from leveling Afterlife to think about the consequences of taking him back. Had hoped that any power he developed would be something benign, like Clara and her ability to change her eye and hair color. "I thought they'd understand and let us come back after a few days, but now-"      

        "They're holding you prisoner?" Her mother's voice was sharp.      

        "Being detained," she gave her best approximation of Gonzalez's gravelly voice. "Until they know for sure that he won’t be a danger to anyone.” What’s worse was she knew Coulson agreed. He didn’t want to hurt anyone, and she knew how terrible the fear that you could at any moment was. “He's getting worse, Mom, and I can't help him."      

        Her mother looked down in thought. "I can send Gordon to bring you both somewhere safe," she said slowly. "Not Afterlife. Somewhere else, somewhere SHIELD doesn't know about."      

        Skye shook her head. "They can track him. Anywhere we go they could find us." She didn't want to think what the council would do if they 'kidnapped' Coulson. "Do you think someone with experience transitioning would be willing to come here?"      

        "I can ask," but her tone suggested that no one would agree to enter SHIELD custody willingly. "If he has developed abilities he will need proper guidance, and sooner rather than later."      

        "At least he's not rearranging fault lines," Skye teased half-heartedly.      

        Jiaying’s smile was gentle. “Hardly.” She shifted. “How is your father?”      

        Skye felt her smile die on her face.      

        “Skye?” her mother asked. “What’s wrong?”      

        “Cal, he…ah…” she cleared her throat, eyes focused on the keyboard. “He’s been unconscious for the past two days. He took something before he turned himself over. Whatever it was, it gave him enough strength to tear one of our agents apart.”      

        “Oh, honey, I’m so sorry-“      

        “Did you know?”      

        The question caught her mother off guard. “What?”      

        Ever since her run in with Raina, Skye had tried to put the pieces together. Raina believed that her mother exposed Coulson deliberately, an exposure that would have killed him if not for the GH-325 in his blood and something Jiaying couldn’t have known about. It was a thought that she didn’t want to entertain, but she had to. The Skye from before would say it was SHIELD paranoia finally getting to her, making her not trust anyone, not even her mother. The Skye who had to deal with Ward, who knew how love allowed you to be manipulated, told that younger Skye to shut up.      

        If Jiaying wanted a war with SHIELD, killing someone sent to negotiate would be the perfect catalyst, but it made no sense. Why would Cal turn himself in? He might have killed a few agents, but chances were higher he’d die in a hail of bullets.      

        “Why would you think I’d know your father planned on harming anyone at SHIELD?” her mother asked, and there was hurt and disappointment behind the words. Jiaying looked sad and confused and it made her want to cry.      

        Skye shook her head. “Nothing… it’s just…” she leaned back, eyes on the ceiling. “Everything around here is so crazy, and…”      

        “Skye,” her mother’s voice was soft, understanding. “Your father did what he did for the same reason he does everything: because he thought it was the right thing to do. When we discussed turning him over to SHIELD, he agreed. It was his idea. Whatever decisions Cal made after that, he made on his own. I need for our people to be at peace with SHIELD. It’s the only way we will survive.”      

        “I know.” She rubbed her eyes. “I just need a nap, or something.”      

        “You’ve been eating properly?”      

        “Yes.” She swore, her mother and Simmons would get along. Both of them had far too much interest in her daily diet. “I even cut down on the Lucky Charms.”      

        “Good. Those things are mostly sugar, anyway.”      

        And that was why she loved them. “Gonzalez has a meeting scheduled for 6:30. He wants me there.”      

        “Then maybe you should take that nap.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phil being a Ranger is actually canon! His codename in SHIELD was also Cheese.


	7. Chapter 7

      In 1998 Coulson stood in front of a firing squad in Kobajjep, Syria, convinced he was going to die. 

     It wasn’t his first brush with death. That came in 1981 when he rolled his Charger on a deserted stretch of highway. He crawled out of the wreckage and waited near the car for over an hour before a state trooper on patrol happened by. There was something about those minutes being led into a prison courtyard in a foreign country and tied to a post that stuck with him more than most of the others. He imagined it was knowing he was going to die and choosing to walk to it on his own two feet instead of being dragged there like the man executed an hour before. Trying to hold down the panic that made him want to beg for his life and commit himself like a soldier, a SHIELD agent. 

     He was so happy to see Fury when he charged into the courtyard, General Adjani shouting for him to be released, that he kissed the man once they were in the air. 

     Phil knew that there wasn’t going to be a firing squad waiting for him in his office. He imagined May, Simmons, Gonzalez and the council would be there. Gonzalez would be armed: he’d yet to see the man without his .45s. May didn’t need a firearm to be deadly, but she’d grown fond of the Night-Nights, citing that she hated breaking her nails breaking someone else’s face. Weaver didn’t carry any weapons that he was able to discern, and Simmons typically eschewed them as well. Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was walking to some kind of death. If not a physical one, certainly metaphorical. 

      _Cold…calm wariness…_ the sensation hit a second before he saw Gonzalez. “You’re early,” the other man said. 

      “Not by my watch,” Coulson countered, going to his desk. 

      Gonzalez was sitting in the corner, eyes on the artificial landscape outside the windows. It was better than those elsewhere in the base, but it was too perfect to really fool anyone into thinking they were looking at more than a nice backdrop. “It takes getting used to,” he mused. “Living underground.” 

      “It has its moments.” Personally, he hated it, but he’d take living in an underground base to trying to operate out of a hotel room any day. It wasn’t like they had the spare money lying around to buy and upgrade an office building. 

      “I had my people check your accommodations a while ago,” Gonzalez continued conversationally. “They couldn’t find an address.” 

      Coulson sat down. “That’s because I don’t have one.” He knew, now that he knew where to look, that Gonzalez owned two small homes, one on each coast, which he visited regularly between stops to the Playground and carrier. 

      “Even Fury didn’t live at the Triskelion.” 

      “Maybe he should have.” The words slipped out before Phil could stop them. It wasn’t true, or fair. Living on base wouldn’t have stopped Hydra. That was a cancer entrenched decades before he took on the mantle of Director. 

      Gonzalez quirked an eyebrow at that. “I’m surprised he hasn’t come storming in, demanding to run SHIELD.” 

      “He has his hands full.” There was no way Nick was letting his pet project sink or swim on its own. The Avengers were as much his baby as Coulson’s, and he would do everything in his power to keep them running. Besides, the man still had an informer somewhere in SHIELD, and that was good enough to tide him over. 

      Gonzalez looked at him then, eyes shrewd. “So you’ve given up on defending him?” 

      “Fury never needed me to defend him from anything.” _You’d know that if you spent any time with the people running SHIELD, instead of retroactively grading their performance,_ he added silently. He wasn’t there to fight, he reminded himself. He glanced at his watch. 6:15. Simmons should be here any second to start setting up. 

      The other man rocked to his feet. “Yes. The Avengers. You both seem preoccupied with powered individuals.” 

      “It certainly seems to be a theme recently. With everything that’s happened in the last four years we have to move beyond political squabbling and international strife. There are individuals on our planet who have powers we can barely understand or even quantify. There’s a big universe out there filled with peoples who’ve had millennia to come to terms with the fact that they aren’t alone, at least one of which is openly hostile and not averse to trying to conquer other worlds. I don’t see how wanting to stack the deck in our favor is a problem.” 

      He could have added that the Index Gonzalez and his group was so gung-ho about was originally Fury’s idea. Before Ironman, before the Hulk or Thor, he’d been slowly, carefully, vetting individuals to make up what they called ‘special teams’. Teams that could be sent in to deal with the weird and unusual. The WSC always shot him down, citing that there was no need and that the individuals on the Index were either too unstable or unreliable. It wasn’t until Ironman that the Initiative got off the ground. 

      “I think our dealings with these people, both now and in the past, indicates a need for careful handling, Agent Coulson. Fury-“ “It doesn’t matter what happened in the past, Agent Gonzalez,” he interrupted. “We won’t see eye to eye on what Fury should or shouldn’t have done or what he can be held accountable for.” He sighed. “I can tell you as someone who’s known the man for over twenty years that what we think he’s responsible for doesn’t count; not to him. He holds himself responsible for everything, even if there was no way he could be.” 

      _…too high…explain the correlation between uptake and reuptake inhibitors…too technical…_

      Phil turned to the door a second before it opened. Simmons came through, arms full of tablets and the shape of a loaded cart behind her. “Oh,” she said, eyes darting between them. “I was just planning on setting up.” 

      “The room’s yours” Coulson said before Gonzalez could answer. 

      

      Skye trudged to Coulson’s office ignoring the headache trying to pound its way out of her skull. She tried to nap after talking to Jiaying, hoping to make the hours between then and now pass quicker. That ended up with her having a nightmare about Gonzalez strapping her and Coulson down to cold metal tables. Paralyzed as Simmons slowly vivisected them with May screamed in the background while Mack held her back. After that, sleep was the last thing on her mind. 

      She spent the rest of the afternoon practicing her power, which was pretty cool. After Gordon’s insistence that it wasn’t just earthquakes she was causing, it was her tapping into the frequency of everything, she actually looked up things like quantum theory, mechanics, and physics. She couldn’t understand half of it, but it was enough to give her something of a baseline for her powers. A scary, almost unbelievable baseline, but something to work with. 

      By three o’clock she knew the precise vibrations of everything in her room and how they interacted with every other object. She’d know if something was changed or moved, so she never had to worry about someone entering in her space without her knowing. She managed to repeat the trick with the water for the first time, pushing and pulling the liquid into the shape of a cow before her alarm clock startled her, sending water flying everywhere. Instead of her normal jeans and t-shirt she was wearing her SHIELD issue jumpsuit, the only thing missing her sidearm. She needed to remind Gonzalez and the council that she was still a SHIELD agent, that her loyalties were clear. They didn’t need to know that those loyalties were to Phil and his version of the organization, not theirs. 

      May was standing outside the doors to his office when she walked up and examined her choice of attire with a blank expression. Skye flushed at her raised eyebrow. “Seems stupid to have the thing and not wear it,” she commented. 

      “Meeting starts in five.” May’s expression shuttered. “You ready?” 

      She still didn’t know why Gonzalez wanted her there. “No time like the present,” Skye huffed as she started to walk past her. 

      May stopped her with a hand on her arm. “Calderone’s in there.” 

      Skye froze, felt her power start to lick at the edge of the doorframe before she got herself back under control. 

      “I know he shot at you,” May started. 

      “It’s fine.” Skye interrupted. It wasn’t, it really wasn’t, but if she could sit in a plane with Ward for twelve hours and not vibrate his heart out of his chest, she could spend an hour with Calderone. “We’re all SHIELD agents, right?” 

      May gave her another searching look before dropping her arm. “I just didn’t want you to be surprised.” 

      “Thanks.” 

      When the door opened Skye could feel the tension in the air; an unnerving vibration that was different from the air in the hallway. Coulson leaned against his desk, doing his nothing-you-can-say-or-do-will-bother-me thing, but she could feel how high-strung he was. Simmons was talking quietly to Weaver and Dr. Chalmers while the biochemist did something to a projector. Gonzalez was situated around a table set with seven chairs, and sitting in one of those chairs was Calderone. 

      She barely caught a glimpse of him before he shot at her, so she didn’t have much of an impression. He was suited like the others, one arm in a sling. She could feel something was off about his left arm, a wound she was told. Something that happened when she unleashed her powers. She hadn’t meant to hurt anyone at the time, had only wanted to stop the bullet she could feel hurtling towards her – a scream of metal parting the air almost faster than she could detect. 

      “Agent Skye,” Calderone said. 

      “Agent Calderone,” she answered with a nod. There, that was nice and neutral. 

      Coulson took a deep breath. “Now that we’re all here… Simmons, would you like to begin?” 

      “Oh yes, of course.” 

      That was perhaps the last sentence she understood. 

      Jemma gave everyone a tablet so they could read her findings themselves, though Skye was sure the only person in the room able to follow independently was Weaver. They were silent as she went through the different tests they put Coulson through, and drew up comparisons between the changes in his DNA when compared to ‘a limited control group’ that Skye knew consisted of herself and Lincoln. She glanced at Phil several times, but his expression never wavered. 

      “However, the most interesting changes have occurred in the Director’s brain chemistry,” she said, pulling up another screen. "His neurotransmitter levels are off the charts," Jemma explained. "Dopamine and noradrenaline levels have skyrocketed. Serotonin levels are almost 300% outside the normal range. At these levels he should be experiencing serotonin storm, but so far Director Coulson has exhibited no symptoms. And that's not the strangest part." She pulled up a video. 

      "What are we looking at?" Gonzalez asked. 

      "Director Coulson's brain at rest." The image pulsed with blues, reds, yellows, and greens. "This was the last scan taken after his run in with Raina and her memory machine. We determined that his electrical activity was close enough to average to keep it on record as a baseline." She took a deep breath. "This is yesterday's scan." 

      The video that played side-by-side with the first was the same shape, but there was no longer blue or green. The entire shape was lit with red and yellow, with striking white interspersed throughout. 

      "It appears that this transformation has completely restructured Director Coulson's brain,” Chalmers took over. “There are formations here that I've never seen before in any creature, let alone a human being. In addition, his electrical activity is unprecedented, especially in these new areas. The white areas are what is most distressing." 

      "Why?" Oliver asked. 

      Simmons breathed deeply. "Our scans use a color scale to interpret activity. Low is blue, gradually grading to red and yellow for high. These white areas... they are places where the machine was unable to apply the scale because the electrical readings were too high. Especially here." She gestured, and the image zoomed in to a section that was blindingly white. "In a human brain that is the right supramarginal gyrus. It's responsible for our perception of others, or ability to empathize. In Director Coulson it's been both enlarged and switched beyond high gear." She gestured again, and another area was highlighted. "We've also seen extremely high, concentrated electrical activity in what was once his anterior pretectal nucleus. Quite frankly, with these additional structures I'm not sure if that's what it is anymore." 

      "How will this affect his ability to make decisions?" Agent Calderone asked. 

      Dr. Chalmers looked between all of them. "There's no way to know without proper testing. So far Director Coulson has shown no marked changes in his behavior, and I would take that as a good sign. He was complaining of a headache after what happened with Agent Palamas, but at this point we've no way of knowing if that was a side effect of what he did, or simply stress induced." 

      Weaver cleared her throat. “And what exactly did he do to Palamas?” 

      Jemma fidgeted. “Dr. Chalmers and I still aren’t sure. Agent Palamas’ recollection of what happened in the vault isn’t very clear. We think he may have interrupted the electrical activity in her brain. This had the duel effect of compelling her to divulge information she normally would not have and causing a mild seizure.” 

      Claderone looked up at that. “Are you saying that Director Coulson has the ability to…control another individual?” 

      Simmon’s eyes widened. “I wouldn’t use such a broad word as control, Agent Calderone-“ 

      “Then what word would you use?” Gonzalez asked. 

      Jemma’s eyes went to hers and Skye clenched her fists. She knew that look. It was the one Jemma wore when she was about to do something she didn’t want to do, but thought was right. “Influence,” the doctor said finally. “Director Coulson may be able to influence others. I would like to clarify,” she added quickly. “That neither Dr. Chalmers nor I have been able to directly observe Director Coulson in the use of his abilities, and this remains pure speculation.” 

      “But the information Palamas gave panned out,” Calderone pointed out. 

      Skye felt it was time to jump in. “We were able to isolate the phone based on the information Palamas gave.” Everyone turned to her and she continued. “Based off that information we tapped into a security feed that showed a woman matching Palamas’ height and build buying the phone at a kiosk in Madrid.” 

      Calderone leaned back in his chair with a grimace. “So we have one that causes earthquakes, and another who can make us do whatever he wants.” 

      Simmons stiffened. “I very clearly stated that I have no concrete evidence that points to-“ 

      “We all saw the video,” Calderone rolled over her. “One minute she’s pushing Coulson’s buttons, the next Palamas is telling him everything he wants to know.” 

      “Thank you, Agent Simmons, for your report,” Gonzalez said with a sharp glance at Calderone. “Dr. Chalmers that will be all.” The woman gathered her tablet and left the room. The door closed with the slight pneumatic hiss of the lock clicking into place. “The doctors have given us all a lot to think about.” He turned to Phil. “Do you have anything you’d like to add to their findings, Director Coulson?” 

      

      Phil was so focused on trying to push away the emotions of the others that he almost didn’t hear the question. The faces around him were calm and collected, but there was a sensation of thickness in the room, like the air was heavy with moisture that licked at his skin. The feeling made him look down at his hand. It was the first time he’d had something close to a physical response to his abilities. Eight pairs of eyes were watching him expectantly. 

      “I agree with Agent Simmons and Dr. Chalmers that my abilities may be telepathic in nature,” he started slowly. “Since the incident with Agent Palamas, I’ve attempted to…isolate…any thoughts or emotions that might not be my own.” He focused on Gonzalez, and the thick sensation zeroed down to a single, silver line of _worry…concern…interest…_ “I believe I have been picking up on the emotional state of some of our personnel.” 

      “’Emotional state’,” Oliver repeated over the monitor. 

      “I’ve experienced flashes of things such as anger, excitement, and concern that cannot be associated with what I was feeling moments before,” Phil clarified, keeping his voice calm and steady. It was his _that’s right, nothing to see here, move along_ tone that worked so well in keeping civilians from stampeding. “I attributed them to stress and fatigue in the beginning, but I believe the flashes originate from those in my immediate vicinity.” 

      “So he’s a mind reader now?” Calderone leaned back in his chair, and Coulson didn’t need to see his face to know he was in pain. His medication must be wearing off. 

      “Emotional state,” he said again calmly. “Not actual thoughts.” Not that he was willing to tell them that. Not yet, maybe not ever. “Nothing so clear, and it isn’t constant. The input comes and goes.” 

      Weaver leaned forward. “There is no confirmed telepath or empath on the Index, Director Coulson. Not in twenty years have we ever encountered a confirmed case.” 

      “Until Chan Ho Yin there wasn’t a pyrokinetic,” May pointed out. 

      “The truth is every individual on the Index displays a unique ability,” Coulson said. “In my case we may have an outlier: Wanda Maximoff.” He let his words hang in the air. Based on Hill’s summary of the Ultron Incident, Wanda and her brother were instrumental in the Avenger’s victory, with powers that seemed to have almost endless applications. Before SHIELD imploded Fury would have traded his own mother for an agent that no one could lie to. An agent that could slip in and out of anywhere in the world and erase her passage from the minds of those she encountered. 

      “Both Wanda Maximoff and her brother were exposed to alien energies that resulted in a fundamental change in their bodies. That is something suspiciously close to what happened to both Agent Skye and myself.” 

      Gonzalez’s eyes were shrewd. “You think she’s another Inhuman?” 

      “She may be.” He looked to Simmons. “Some weeks ago Agent Simmons suggested separating the Index into two separate categories. One for individuals whose abilities can be considered man-made, or enhanced, and another for those whose abilities seem to have no traceable cause. The gifted.” He brought up the Index on the large screen. “Since Agent Simmons’ suggestion I’ve considered it a side project to investigate discrepancies in the files of those considered gifted.” There were less than two hundred individuals on the Index, but narrowed down to the gifted category there were only seventeen names. He pulled up two files in particular: Chan Ho Yin, and Donnie Gill. 

      “When Agents Simmons and Fitz investigated the device responsible for Donald Gill’s abilities they discovered residual energy readings similar to Loki’s staff emanating from several rare earth metals. Metals that Gill and his classmate received from Ian Quinn, a known arms dealer and purveyor of alien technology.” Raw, aching anger…keep it together keep it together… Phil turned to Skye. Her expression was blank, an almost perfect copy of May’s, but he knew talking about Quinn was still a sore point with her. “Chan Ho Yin lived near the Wan Tai nuclear power plant when it exploded in 2010. SHIELD was investigating Wan Tai as far back as 2008. There was reasonable intel to suggest the decommissioned power plant was being used by the government as a containment site for a 084.” 

      “I’m sure this is all very fascinating, Director Coulson,” Calderone said, eyes pinched with pain. “But is there a point in all of this?” 

      It was good to know that, even after all these years, Calderone remained an asshole. “Agent Simmons?” he prompted. 

      Simmons’ eyes were filled with excitement. “I don’t know why no one saw it before…” she trailed off, then looked up. “Using Director Coulson’s parameters, a solid eighty percent of Indexed individuals who fall under the gifted category have had previous exposure to materials classified as otherworldly in origin. We’ve been classifying Inhumans without realizing it for years.” 

      “This is all very interesting, and will be addressed at a later date,” Gonzalez straightened in his seat. “But the question on the table now is how Drs. Chalmers and Simmons findings relate to Director Coulson, specifically his ability to remain Director of SHIELD.” 

      Simmons mouth turned down. “There is no medical reason for Director Coulson to be removed from duty,” she stated firmly. 

      “Except for the fact that we have no idea what the extent of his abilities are, or how his exposure has affected his mind,” Weaver injected. “By Director Coulson’s own admission he believes himself to be experiencing the emotions of those around him. At the very least the Director is compromised.” 

      “He’s already put one woman in the infirmary,” Calderone added. 

      _Cold, icy rage…_ “You tried to put an agent in the ground,” Skye countered. “What’s your excuse?” 

      Calderone puffed up. “I was neutralizing a threat.” 

      “Because chasing a trained agent through the woods without identifying yourself is always the way to bring someone in alive.” Skye’s smile was sharp. 

      “Placing blame isn’t going to get us any closer to a decision,” Gonzalez interrupted. 

      May’s eyes glittered. “I think some of you made a decision before stepping foot in this office.” 

      After that there was a flurry of voices, followed by an avalanche of emotions that Phil tried to push away. 

      _Should have known better...best for the agency…needling amusement tap-dancing on his tongue… sharp bitter frustration…unnecessary, completely unnecessary…sinking fear…_

      “Director?” 

      _What's happening is he okay not weird at all need fennel don't forget fennel who the hell likes the Clippers anyway don't pay any attention stupid alien shit Coulson's losing it juststaringdon'tneedthisshitnowMayGonzalezplshprostra-_

      "Director!" 

      The hand on his shoulder was a lifeline, and he took it. _Not right... what's happening... not in front of them..._ May's voice was clear, roared over everything else and brought him back to himself. He was leaning over his desk, hands splayed into claws on his blotter. Skye was staring at him. She'd shifted position from earlier and was half-way between him and the table. _Worry cold and deadly creeping through his stomach and into his chest..._

      "Director Coulson?" 

      He looked up. Gonzalez, Weaver, and Oliver were all watching him with equally blank expressions. He could almost reach out, almost feel the combination of worry, surprise, and grim satisfaction pouring from Gonzalez. Calderone was wary, but beneath that was a strange sense of vindication. What had happened? What had he done? "I..." He shook his head and looked down at his monitor. 315 BPM and dropping. "I think it would be best for Agent May to take over as interim Director." Every word was like a shard of glass working its way up his throat. He thought he heard a sharp intake of breath from Skye. 

      "You do realize what you're saying," Gonzalez pressed. 

      "I've been compromised." He didn't know how badly, and that thought more than anything else terrified him. If he couldn’t sit through a heated discussion, how was he supposed to function under pressure? 

      "Agent May," Gonzalez’s eyes flicked to her. "Do you agree with Director Coulson's assessment?" 

      May’s fingers dug into his arm. _Don't make me do this, Phil..._ He turned to her and nodded once. She didn’t return the gesture, but he felt her fingers loosen. _Steely reserve tightening his spine…_ "Yes." 

      Gonzalez sighed, and it had the full weight of his age behind it. "Then Agent May will act as interim Director until such time as it is determined Director Coulson can resume his duties. Do you have anything else to add, Agent Coulson?" 

      It stung, not hearing ‘director’ in front of his name. "No." 

      Phil handed May his pad and walked out of the room. He didn't want to wait for Gonzalez to excuse him, didn't want to be kicked out of his own office like an unwanted pet. Worry...concern dripping ice down his spine... With a shuddering breath he headed for his quarters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter went through about five rewrites, and I'm still not happy with it, but it's getting posted because I'm sick of seeing it on my desktop. I've been trying, without success, to write a chapter with a section from Fitz's perspective, which lead to a lot of research on his specific type of brain damage that didn't really help. Anyway, this chapter is for CallToMuster, without whom this fic would have ended up in my discarded pile.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry sorry sorry about the time it took it get this chapter out. I found I was writing myself into a corner, and needed a little inspiration. I swear, my Dad should write books. Bouncing ideas off him for an hour was more than enough to get me unstuck.

        When he woke up, he wasn’t sure where he was.  


        That in itself was nothing new. His experiments sometimes left him floundering for the first few hours after coming out of a haze. Once he found himself in another state, nearly three hundred miles from his original location and covered in sewer water. This time he was dry, relatively warm, and lying on an even surface. He tried to sit up and was stopped short by pressure at his wrists. Oh, he thought, remembering the pain, the agent. SHIELD.  


        “Hello?” His voice was hoarse. None of his other serums gave him that, so he assumed the hoarseness was from disuse. How long was he unconscious? Did Jiaying’s plan succeed? _Daisy,_ the thought jarred through him. _Where is Daisy?_ “Hello?” Cal tried again, pleased when his voice carried further.  


        “Dr. Johnson?” The voice was one he didn’t recognize and came from somewhere above him. “Please remain calm.”  


        “Where’s Daisy?” He asked. Demanded. She had to be safe, she just had to be.  


        There was silence.  


        “Where’s my daughter?” He struggled against the restraints, but the enhanced strength he remembered from before was gone.  


        “Dr. Johnson,” the voice was harder, more authoritative. “If you don’t stop I will be forced to administer a sedative.”  


        Cal let his head fall back, and winced when it hit solid metal. He was on something like an examination table. He flexed his wrists again. Why would SHIELD have a metal examination table with restraints unless they were used to experiment on living subjects? He swallowed, thinking of his Daisy strapped to a table like the one he was on, crying out for a father who couldn’t help her. “Please,” he said. “I just want to know if my daughter is okay.”  


        There was no answer.  


        Cal felt his heart racing, heard the increasing beep behind his head that signaled a monitor of some sort. He had no idea how long he’d been unconscious, no idea what happened after he tore the SHIELD agent apart. He shook away the memory of her smile. The fearful but determined look in her eye when she told him he would be all right.  


        “Dr. Johnson.” Another voice he didn’t recognize, gravely with age. “Can you hear me?”  


        “Where is my daughter? Where is Daisy?”  


        “Safe.”  


        He swallowed. “Is she here?” She shouldn’t be. She should have stayed in Afterlife with Jiaying, where it was safe. She wouldn’t leave her mother, not willingly, not after spending so much time trying to find her. Jiaying wouldn’t let her daughter go, either. Not without a fight.  


        “I’m afraid I’m unable to answer that question at this time, Dr. Johnson.” The voice paused. “We do have some questions we’d like you to answer, starting with what you planned to gain by injecting yourself with that serum.”  


        “I don’t…” He started struggling again. He didn’t trust this voice, didn’t trust any of SHIELD’s cronies. People who decided who lived and who died based on how useful or controllable they were. “Daisy!” He shouted. “I need to see her!”  


        “If you don’t stop, we’ll be forced to put you back under so you don’t hurt yourself.” The voice sounded like it wanted nothing more than to put him under permanently. “The sooner you answer our questions, the sooner you will see your daughter. You have my word.”

 

        Three days after officially signing control of SHIELD over to May Phil was ready to crawl out of his skin. Without the distraction of trying to rebuild the most extensive intelligence network on the planet his new powers were…irritating. It was the only word that described the whiplash sensations that would hit at any moment. When he was focused on a task it wasn’t as bad: a few flashes from those in his general vicinity, something he discovered by meticulously charting the movements of the agents on base via security monitors. It was when he was just sitting, or heaven forbid trying to sleep, that it became near unbearable.  


        It wasn’t just sensations anymore. More often than not it would start with whispers, the barest hint of a sound that faded in and out. The more relaxed he became, the louder they grew, until the sound was pressing down on him from all sides. The first time it happened he pressed his hands to his ears like a child. It was only after an hour that he managed to push it away.  


        Which was how he found himself sitting in front of his computer, staring down Maria Hill and hoping she wouldn’t try to argue him out of his latest plan.  


        “I need a favor.”  


        Maria lifted one eyebrow. “Don’t we all.”  


        He knew she thought his stepping down was a bad idea. She trusted May because he did, but she didn’t trust Gonzalez or his council as far as she could throw them. It was one of her solid beliefs that without being hampered oversight and the World Security Council, SHIELD could have done a lot more good in the days before it fell. They were both convinced that Pierce wasn’t the only HYDRA member embedded in the Council. “I need to talk to the Avengers.”  


        Both her eyebrows went up at that. “I thought you said you wanted to keep them out of this.”  


        “The situation has changed.”  


        Maria’s eyes were a clear, steady blue. He could recall saying the same words to her many times over the years, and never once had the situation changed for the better. He didn’t need his new powers to know she was worried about him.  


        “Stark won’t talk to you,” she said slowly. “Something about not wanting his brain eaten by zombies.”  


        Phil fought the urge to roll his eyes. When Natasha dumped SHIELD’s databases onto the internet, it included reports signed by him a full year after his ‘death’. “And the others?”  


        She shrugged and leaned back in her chair. “Nat and Clint are taking it in stride, Steve’s more pissed at Fury for compartmentalizing your resurrection. Who knows how Banner felt about it. Thor probably wants to throw you a party. Everybody else is too new to care.”  


        He nodded. “Good.”  


        She gave him another blank look. “Give me a date, I’ll make the arrangements.”  


        “Thank you.”  


        When the monitor went dead Phil ran a hand over his face. He just might get out of this without losing his mind. Maybe. Depending on exactly how his first meeting with Maximoff went.  


        _Wow, I thought I looked bad in quarantine...  
_

        "You should have seen me after Toronto." He half-turned with a smile.  


        Skye was standing at the door to his quarters, a tray with a plate and two bowls in her hands, eyes wide. _Scared...didn't say how did he know..._ He cleared his throat, tried to play off what he just done, what he was quickly suspecting he could do. At least he could trust Skye to keep any slips she noticed to herself. "Didn't think I’d get special deliveries," he covered, nodding to the tray.  


        She lifted the heavy plastic slightly. "Grilled cheese and tomato soup. Not as good as yours, but since you won't tell me you're secret recipe..." She set the tray down on a small table, eyes moving around the room.  


        It was the first time anyone other than Melinda had entered his private quarters in months. Certainly not since he made the rooms his own. He’d rescued most of his belongings from the Bus before she was sacrificed, and he’d spread them around this space that somehow never felt like his. Her eyes stopped on a photo of him in fatigues, surrounded by his men and loaded for bear.  


        “Wow,” she said after a moment. “Young A.C.” _...Mellow curiosity tingling through his fingertips…_ “So… that was SHIELD back in the day?”  


        “That is the 75th Ranger Regiment, United States Army,” he corrected, moving until they were shoulder to shoulder.  


        “Were you liaising with them?”  


        “They were my unit.”  


        Skye half-turned. “You’re telling me you were a Ranger?” She made a wild gesture. “The whole crawling through jungles, parachuting at fifty thousand feet, taking out targets with extreme prejudice Rangers?”  


        He shrugged. “I only had to do a HALO jump a few times.” He glanced at her with a smirk. “And the ceiling for a HALO is 35,000 feet, not fifty.” When she rolled her eyes the smirk spread. “What? I don’t look like a Ranger?”  


        “Honestly? I thought you were like a history major or something.” He chuckled and she smiled. “Maybe English Lit.” She turned back to the picture, eyes sharp with curiosity. “You couldn’t have been more than twenty-five.”  


        He shrugged. “Ancient history. Besides, our food’s getting cold, and cold grilled cheese is a crime.”  


        They ate their meal in silence. It was a strange reversal of just a few months ago. "Not bad," he said after he bit into his grilled cheese.  


        She shrugged and dipped a piece of her sandwich into her soup. "Grilled cheese and Campbell's I can do. Just don't ask for anything fancy."  


        He smiled. "I'll keep that in mind."  


        She was mopping up the last of her soup with a crust of bread when he spoke again. "How's life outside the bubble?"  


        Skye grimaced and left her bread in the bowl. "Could be better. Mom says 'Hi', by the way."  


        He blinked. "I'm surprised Gonzalez isn't trying to maintain radio silence."  


        "Yeah...well..." _...writhing in the pit of his stomach..._  


        "Skye?"  


        "Technically Skype isn't a radio," her tone was challenging. "Besides, I don't think they want to antagonize Jiaying after what happened at Afterlife. They still don't know what brought down the jet."  


        "But you do."  


        She scratched her head and leaned back in her chair. "Palamas is awake. She doesn't remember much about what happened down there. So far we've been telling her she passed out."  


        Coulson nodded, even though he knew that wasn't what happened. "Any action on our intel?"  


        "The council," she made quote marks in the air with her fingers, "are waiting for your input. Lance is taking the whole kidnap-his-ex thing personal, so he's all for moving out now. So far we haven't been able to trace the number. I'm guessing it's a burner phone, one and done. All we can say for sure is the phone was purchased in Madrid."  


        He thought for a moment. "Kara mentioned meeting him in Spain."  


        "So Ward's staying local." She folded her arms. "Think we can flush him out with a minimum body count?"  


        "Maybe." It would mean talking to Kara again, making sure there wasn't something she was holding back, some code to make sure it was her. A jet and a few agents and it was possible. He leaned his head back. "You know, its times like this I really miss Romanov and Barton."  


        "It's Ward. Do you really need the super-duper spies?"  


        Yes. Clint could take the target out from over a mile away with the right equipment, remove the possibility of him losing anyone else. If he had a thousand chances to place a bet on a fight between Natasha and Ward, he'd pick Natasha every time. "He's dangerous."  


        Skye's expression closed off. _...Fear sharp and cutting..._ "I know."  


        Phil closed his eyes against the emotions. He knew that Skye had been wary of Ward, but he hadn’t known how deep her distrust and fear ran. If he had he might have put a bullet in the man before forcing her to live with him in the basement.  


        Skye cleared her throat. "So...what does it feel like when you do your thing?"  


        He tried to think about how he felt with Kara, with Skye in the infirmary. How it felt when he wasn’t trying to fight it. "Like fog."  


        "Okay..." she drawled, sitting with one leg curled beneath her.  


        He took a breath. "It's like walking in a field in really thick fog. Zero visibility, nothing to let you know what's out there. Then you catch a shape, a flash from someone's coat, and you try to focus on that but it's gone too fast for you even know if someone was there or if you imagined it." He shook his head with a wry smile. "But then again, it feels like I'm the fog."  


        "It was bees, for me," she said gently. "Like there was this beehive inside me that someone shook up and shoved under my skin."  


        "But it stopped?"  


        She smiled. "After a few days, and what they did to me in Afterlife. Now it feels like there's this music that's just out of hearing, but it's all around me. And if I listen too close..." she lifted her hands and shook them rapidly.  


        "But it's not always fog." He thought back to that moment: Kara staring at him with Skye's face, the things she said. "I knew Kara was lying. Not because of her body language or her voice... I just knew, and I wanted her to stop." He thought about the sensation, of feeling a resistance to his words and wanting that resistance gone. The feel of pushing against something not there, but feeling it give all the same. "I made her stop."  


        Concern caressing his skull...need to help him...can't wait..."Do you trust me, AC?"  


        "Of course."  


        "Good." She pulled her legs up until she was sitting Indian style in her chair. "Close your eyes." When he didn't move she leaned forward slightly. "You trust me, right? So close 'em."  


        He did as ordered.  


        "Okay... I want you to focus on the mist."  


        He cracked an eye. "What?"  


        "Do it," she ordered with a small smack to his knee. "And no peeking."  


        He closed his eye. "Focus on the mist, yes Master."  


        _...Bright, shining laughter..._ "Keep it up, I'll make you call me that all the time, Padawan. I know you know how to meditate, so start there. Control your breathing, calm your mind."  


        He'd done this enough times over his life (during missions, on doctor's orders, a few times so Melinda would stop threatening to shoot him in the foot) that it was easy. He focused on his heartbeat, on his breathing, until he felt calm.  


        After a few minutes Skye spoke again. He wondered how she knew he was ready, then remembered her powers. Wondered briefly if his vibrations were different. "So..." she said, voice calm. “Focus on the mist. On how it feels..."  


        The first barely there brush against his arm made him jump slightly, but he zeroed in on the sensation and it came again, firmer this time. That one thread became two, then ten curling around him, around them, fluttering through the walls and ceiling like they didn't exist. He opened his eyes slowly and he could almost see them; each tendril a different color. Skye still had her eyes closed and he reached out, not with his hands but with something else, and tugged on a tendril the pale blue of a clear morning.  
The world exploded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and sticking around for this long. You guys are awesome ^_^
> 
> I've chosen to keep Phil's past comic canon, and only poked a little fun at the show. I'd like to think that his file was redacted heavily after being recruited by SHIELD, so it does in fact read that he was a history major.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy crap, it's been almost two years since I updated! Admittedly, not my longest dry spell, but still... sorry to the people who are still watching this thing. I'll try not to let so much time pass between updates again. There will probably be only two or three more chapters to this, depending on how I cut it. Thanks for hanging in there!

_She watched the blind teenager as he shuffled into the class. She was back at Saint Agnes after spending less than a year with her latest foster family. Back in the room she shared with two other girls younger than her. She didn’t know what she did wrong, why they kept sending her back. Other kids went out, but most eventually stayed with a family. She was one of a handful who kept coming back. Sister Benedict’s ‘problem children’._

_Matt was another._

_“Matt,” Sister Gertrude said with a smile. She didn’t like most of the nuns, but Sister Gertrude always smiled at them and called them God’s lambs. She locked her desk and headed for the door. “Can you to hand out the tests on the left corner of my desk, please.”_

_He smiled in the sister’s direction. “Sure.” He stepped to the side as the sister approached, cane held loosely against his chest, careful of tripping someone. Once the nun was clear he gave it a single tap before moving. Slender fingers trailed along the desk in the front of the class until they hit the stack of papers. He tapped the stack on the desk and turned, counting out six pages and setting them on the desk in front of him before moving on to the next row. Mary always wondered at how he seemed to know where everything was. The one time she’d tried to walk around Saint Agnes with her eyes closed she ended up tripping over a potted plant and almost falling out a second story window._

_Matt was the oldest orphan in Saint Agnes. Jaime Connor said he was almost too old, nearly eighteen and about to get kicked out, but Mary Sue liked him. He helped everyone without anyone having to ask. One of her first memories was of him picking her up when she fell on the playground after Nathan pushed her under the monkey bars. He stopped in front of her desk, counting out the six pages before setting them down well clear of her hands. He cleared his throat. “You okay?”_

_Mary Sue nodded, then blushed when she remembered he couldn’t see the gesture. He wasn’t looking at her, his face turned down but further left than she was sitting. “I’m okay,” she muttered before taking the stack of papers from him and setting them face down on the corner of her desk. It was lunch, but she didn’t feel like sitting in the rectory. A few of the kids whispered when she showed up back at the orphanage on Sunday, her bag full of new clothes from her latest {Phil} fostering. She was almost eight, the chance of her getting adopted was almost zero and everyone knew it. Tommy called her ‘Last Chance Poots’._

_Matt shook his head, rocking back and forth on his feet. “You know, I almost believe that.” She sniffed, felt tears hot and strong flood her eyes. She tried so hard this time: didn’t complain, didn’t ask for anything, volunteered for chores, anything for the Zanes to keep her._

_For them to love her._

_“I don’t know what I did wrong,” she whispered, scrubbing a hand across her eyes. She thought about it all night. Did she eat too much? Should she have {wake up, you can hear me} laughed harder at the little jokes Mrs. Zane told? Woken up earlier? “Not everyone gets adopted,” Matt told her. He reached out until his hand brushed her desk, then positioned himself to kneel next to her chair. “And it’s not your fault.” But it was. It had to be her fault. There had to be something wrong with her that made them keep sending her back. {wake up!}_

_Matt sighed. “You know, I was a few years older than you when I first came here. A blind kid with a bad attitude and a lot of other issues. Never got adopted.” He shrugged. “Never had a chance, really. In six months I’m going to Harvard University, and I didn’t need a foster family to get there.” His smile was warm. “Full scholarship and everything.”_

_{AC!} Mary leaned forward, shoulders shaking, and snuffled when he hugged her. None of her foster parents ever hugged her, and she marveled at the safety she felt. Nothing could hurt her, not as long as Matt kept her safe._

_“You’re gonna be okay,” he said, breath tickling her ear. “You think about what you want to do, and you go out and do it. You don’t have to wait for anyone or anything, never forget that.”_

          Phil inhaled. His lungs were burning like he’d run a marathon, heart hammering against his ribs. He was on the floor, and Skye hovered over him, hands on his shoulders. “Sk-” Jesus, his throat was raw. 

          She leaned back and picked up her phone. “Cancel medical,” she ordered. “He’s conscious.” 

          Phil flexed his fingers as a high-pitched voice he knew belonged to Simmons protested that yes, medical was coming, and there was nothing Skye or anyone else could do about it. It felt like there was cotton stuffed in his joints, and his head felt like May had taken out her frustrations on his brain. Slowly he was aware that he was laid out on the floor of his quarters, the chair he was sitting in overturned. One of the bowls of soup was turned upside down near his desk. 

          A hand entered his field of vision. “How many fingers?” 

          “Four,” he answered, sitting up slowly. He was in his office, but he could still smell rain and concrete, the alcohol haze of whiteboard markers and the clean smell of soap. “What happened to Matt?” 

          “What?” She frowned. 

          Panic settled in his stomach, sending sharp tendrils into his chest. _Put up or shut up, Coulson. You know what you saw._ “Matt.” He said again. “He was going to Harvard.” He needed to know what happened. 

          “Matt?” Her brow furrowed before she blinked. “Matt Murdock?” 

          Phil nodded. Murdock, that was the name sitting on the tip of his tongue. A blind boy almost a man. Sure enough in his place in the world that he was willing to help others find theirs. 

          Skye shrugged. “He went to Harvard, then Columbia. He sent me a postcard a few years ago before SHIELD picked me up.” She eyed him. “How do you know about Matt?” 

          Phil ran a hand over his face. “How long was I out?” 

          “A few seconds. Minute tops. Think you can stand?” 

          Phil let Skye manhandle him into standing, though his legs felt like Jell-O. “Let’s not do that again,” he joked. 

          “I thought it would help,” _guilt, terrible and crushing made it worse don’t know what you’re doing..._ “Simmons is incoming,” she warned him. 

          Wonderful, the last thing he needed was more tests. “Think it’s too late to steal Lola and bail?” 

          “I heard that!” Simmons' voice entered the room seconds before the woman herself. 

________________________________________________________________________________

_Afterlife was burning._

_The commissary exploded in fragments of wood and tile. Yung’s little girl screamed as the pieces dug deep into the side of her face, blood pouring from the new wounds. Another explosion destroyed the infirmary, where Kevin was still recovering from his transformation. One of the helicopters suddenly spiraled into another in its formation, sending both of them tumbling down the mountainside in a fireball, but the bombardment didn’t stop. She was surrounded by gunfire and death, and there was no escape…_

          Raina came back to herself with a violence that sent her crashing to the floor. She felt one of her spines bend impossibly before it broke, sending a spike of pain through her back. “No, no…” she whispered as she struggled to her feet. They were coming. They were coming and Afterlife was going to die. 

          “Gordon!” She yelled almost before her doors were open. She ran down the steep steps of her cottage and headed for his rooms. She had to tell him, had to warn them they needed to leave before it was too late. 

          The whump of helicopter blades brought her up short. There, in the distance, twenty helicopters were approaching, and she knew that death came with them. A few of the people still in Afterlife paused, staring out across the valley. 

          She turned, heading for Jiaying’s small home. The older woman was just leaving her office, face grim. Her eyes lighted on Raina. “Gather everyone you can and head for the Chamber,” she said, half-running down the stairs. 

          A lifetime of bucking orders died when she saw clouds surround the helicopters. Not clouds, smoke, from the field of missiles currently hurtling towards them. 

__________________________________________________________________________________

          Ward watched as the Quinjet landed, Night-Night pistol at the ready. He pushed down a small sliver of excitement as the engines started to cycle down. Kara would be with him again, and she was bringing Agent Morse with her. Finally, he could help her start healing. 

          After two weeks he’d almost given up on hearing from her. He hadn’t counted on Coulson being so distrusting. All of his research and interactions with the new Director indicated he would have accepted Agent Palamas back into the fold with a minimum of suspicion. Coulson was always interested in saving people, in making them better. What he liked to pretend was that he wasn’t saving them only to be used at a later date. Only bettered to be a more precise weapon. 

          Kara was the perfect agent to send against him. Someone damaged not just by the failure of SHIELD to discover HYDRA among its ranks. Someone who suffered at his direct command. It was a chance Coulson wouldn’t turn down, to right his mistake and make her better. It was a pattern of behavior that started with Clint Barton, his first recruit. He’d turned a circus performer and hired thug into the best marksman SHIELD had ever seen. It wasn’t to help the other man, but because he saw a talent that Coulson didn’t want to be wasted. Even his attempts to ‘help’ Ward himself were his way of making his asset fit better into the dynamics of his team, nothing more. While Kara wasn’t a field agent she was a gifted linguist and excelled at forensic accounting, something Coulson desperately needed if he hoped to track down every black account and joint holding still floating after the collapse of SHIELD. 

          The bay door lowered and Grant took aim. He was fairly hidden by the tall grass, enough to help him get the drop on anyone other than Kara. After long moments she stumbled out, one arm braced against the fuselage, the other wrapped around her middle. 

          “Kara!” he shouted, gun lowered but not entirely. There was no sign of Agent Morse as he approached, only the whir of the engines as they cooled. She turned to him and smiled, and it was like the sun coming out. The coldness that he’d lived with since sending her into SHIELD faded. He wasn’t alone anymore. “Are you all right?” 

          Kara nodded. “Lucky kick.” She half-turned to look into the jet. “She’s inside.” 

          “Good.” Ward holstered the Night-Night and started forward. “Here, let me have a look.” 

          He reached to put a hand around her shoulder. 

          The fist struck him in the throat hard enough that he felt the crunch of cartilage before bright, spreading pain stole his breath. He backed away, stumbled to get distance, but Kara (the Agent, so stupid, he should have added an extra layer of confirmation) spun, landing a solid kick to his solar plexus. What little air remained in his lungs left him in a whooshing gurgle as he fell backward. He reached for his gun, but the holster was empty. 

          “You know, I almost decided to take it easy on you,” the agent said before reaching up to touch her temple. Kara’s face pixelated and revealed Natasha Romanov. “But then I thought, ‘how would Cap handle a HYDRA plant plotting to kidnap a SHIELD agent?’” She started forward, dodging his kick before flipping him onto his stomach too easily for such a small woman. He felt a tug on the back of his jacket, and he was forced to his knees. “Lucky for you, Coulson wants you alive.” 

          He struggled to respond, but there was a quiet ffsst, followed by a sharp sensation in his chest. He looked down at the shaft of a dart sticking neatly out of his breastbone. 

          Clint Barton stood up from the tall grass, rifle cradled in his arms, ghillie suit fluttering in the wind. “Hey, Ward,” he said with a small wave as darkness started creeping along the edges of his vision. “I shot you.” 

. 

          Black Widow rolled her eyes as Ward slumped to the ground. “You’re carrying him inside,” she informed the sniper as she walked past him. 

          Hawkeye came up short, pointing at the other man where he lay.“Oh, come on. He’s like a good two-twenty.” 

          “You should have thought about that before you shot him.” She quirked an eyebrow at the purple puff sticking out of the other man’s chest. “I thought we agreed to shoot him after I got him in the jet.” 

          Barton shrugged and slung his rifle. “Not nearly as fun,” he said, leaning down and hefting the other man into a fireman’s carry. “Besides, I thought the fight was gonna go on for a little longer than that. You know, before you embarrassed him.” 

          Natasha gave the former agent a once over that should have made blisters appear on his skin. “Grant Ward? Waste of energy.” 

          Clint shook his head as he humped the man into the jet. “Somewhere, some SHIELD evaluator is crying into his records, ashamed he gave this guy such high praise.” He slammed Ward into a seat none too gently and smiled when the back of his head bounced against the bulkhead. Cap might not approve, but then again, the guy was new-generation HYDRA. He pulled out a pair of restraints Stark threw at him before they started for Spain. The slender piece of metal expanded to cover both of Ward’s hands in a smooth sphere before another piece shot up and wrapped around his neck. A small digital meter unfolded itself with “500V” displayed in bright red numbers. 

          “Should we tell him about the voltage?” Clint asked as he settled into the pilot’s seat. 

          Natasha sat across from their prisoner, one hand brushing the Glock 19 strapped to her thigh. “Nah. He’ll figure it out.” 

______________________________________________________________________________________________

 _Fuck._ It was the one word running through Gonzalez’s head as he watched the satellite images of Afterlife. After the initial heat blooms of heavy artillery, the aircraft began doing strafing runs. He watched as people fell and did not move. As two of the ten helicopters suddenly vered into each other. As another crumpled as if it were nothing but a tin can. _This is our fault;_ the thought wouldn’t leave him alone. How long had Afterlife existed, hidden among the mountains, only for SHIELD to cast light on it? The Chinese were ruthless when it came to hunting down HYDRA within their borders, and too few believed the SHIELD he was trying to build was free of their control. 

          “We’re still working on getting through to anyone in the Political Commissar of the PLAAF,” Agent Taylor informed him. 

          It wouldn’t matter. By the time they got through to someone high enough in the Chinese military the assault would be finished, and who knew how many Inhumans killed. 

          He focused on what he could save. “Have we had any word of Jiaying?” 

          “No communications from the compound. We’ve detected several energy spikes that correspond with their teleporter,” Jenkins sounded hopeful. 

          Not enough. There were at least three hundred people in Afterlife. Gordon couldn’t save them all. 

          “Sir? Should we deploy a rescue squad?” 

          “No.” The Chinese would secure the site before they could get there, and it would cause more tensions that he didn’t need. Getting into a pissing war with China wouldn’t help anyone, SHIELD or Inhumans. “What assets do we have on the ground?” 

          “Agents Lee and Young are about twenty miles away, still hiking through the passes. They’ve had no contacts but have reported hearing heavy fire.” 

          It was something, at least. “Get them on the line. Tell them to look for survivors coming down from Afterlife. Ready a rapid extraction team in case of contacts, full medical detail.” It would stretch resources already at the breaking point even further, but it couldn’t be helped. He needed the survivors. Needed them to know that this wasn’t his plan, not his people. He turned and headed to his office. “And someone get Skye.” 

          Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. He cursed in time with his steps, trying to ignore the way his knee throbbed in time with his heart. This was exactly what he wanted to avoid, needed to avoid. The Inhumans were enough of an unknown. He still didn’t know how they’d brought down one of his jets, what exactly they’d done to one of his agents, or how they would respond to this attack. His gut told him they would blame SHIELD, and he couldn’t fault them for it. Somehow their jets were tracked right to the compound, and the Chinese were wary enough of SHIELD to launch a full-scale attack rather than let what they probably thought was a SHEILD asset within their borders. 

          I’ll have to call a Code Red for our Bai-Li facility, he thought. At the moment, there were less than a hundred agents and support personnel on-site, but if China was trying to purge SHIELD facilities they would have to cut their losses. He fought the urge to groan. They just got the satellite site up and running. 

          Skye skidded to a stop at his office door as he approached. “Sir?” 

          “Agent Skye.” He opened the door and gestured for her to enter. “There is a situation.” 

          He didn’t mince words as he broke down what was happening. When he got to the continued ariel bombardment the water on his desk swirled impossibly in its bottle before settling. Another manifestation of her abilities, whatever they were. Physically, she didn’t move beyond tightening her hands into fists. 

          “We’re looking for survivors now,” he told her. “We have two agents on the ground, twenty miles out. I’ve ordered an extraction team with medical compliment in the air.” 

          “They won’t get there in time.” Her voice was flat. 

          “They won’t,” he agreed. “Not fast enough to help. Maybe fast enough to get anyone who made it down the mountain away from the slaughter.” He came around his desk and sat in his chair with a sigh. “Have you had any communications with your mother in the last half hour?” 

          “No.” 

          “Would you tell me if you had?” 

          Skye straightened, affecting a close approximation of attention. “I’m SHIELD agent, Director Gonzalez,” her voice was clipped. 

          He tapped his cane. “But that’s not all you are, is it?” 

          The water in the bottle splashed again, freezing in a collection of spikes before settling into liquid. It reminded him too much of the Artifact. 

          “If my mother initiates any contact, I’ll be sure to report it, sir. In the meantime, there’s been a development with Agent Coulson.” 

          _Fuck._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Clint's 'I shot you' is lifted from a Hulk vs Wolverine Marvel cartoon movie. It's Deadpool who actually says the line in that, but I think Clint could pull it off. Plus it gave me an excuse to have Natasha kick Ward's ass, which I would have paid so much good money to see.
> 
> On China attacking Afterlife:  
> I'm assuming that in this world the Chinese government is fairly similar to our own. I'm also assuming that means they are less than happy to allow any military or covert operations on their soil carried out by foreign agents, and downright livid over the fact that several military planes are flown into their western mountains without a by-your-leave. Considering that these planes are identified as being SHIELD (I don't think another agency has been shown to use the Quinjet), considering that SHIELD has very recently been identified as being a HYDRA front (At least for some), and considering the fact that SHIELD at this point in time has been disbanded and is still not identified as a government or international agency, their response is harsh, but not unjustified. I imagine they think they are blowing up a covert HYDRA base disguised as a small village (remember, a village that no one else in the area even knows exists), and will be suitably pissed later to find out that they just blew the hell out of civilians. A majority of foreign civilians on Chinese soil, but still civilians.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Hope you enjoyed ^_^


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